


Godless, Graceless, and Young

by kiddle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1990s, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, American AU, F/F, F/M, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Grunge AU, Historical, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Musician Harry, Musicians, Non-Famous, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-05-14 08:46:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 110,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19269787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiddle/pseuds/kiddle
Summary: Seattle, Washington, 1991It takes a special breed to have a slacker persona and still be a millionaire rockstar. Harry is about halfway there. He's the guitarist in a Seattle grunge band that could finally be headed somewhere, but he's also been sleeping on his bassist's sofa for the last three months and has been fired from every day-job he's had. Money doesn't equal success, but it does pay the bills.When a job offer and a new lead singer stumble into Harry's life, he might be getting a lot more than he bargained for. Like a couple of extra gigs and a boy who can teach him more than just how to mix a few drinks, and it's gonna take a few band brawls and a whole lot of heart-searching to get there.He's gotta have one somewhere...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This time around, I've decided to tackle the 1990s grunge scene in Seattle and see how I could make my own story fit. I had a lot of fun writing in this world and I'm so excited to have it completed!
> 
> I just wanted to make one important note that this fic does occasionally deal with the topic of HIV/AIDS. As it had a horrible and widespread effect on the LGBT+ community during the time this story takes place, I felt it would be ignorant to ignore its history. With that said, there are NO major character deaths in this story or anything of the like, if that's something you try to avoid. I have been doing research to make sure my depiction is accurate and sensitive to the topic. If you want to learn more information and about how to donate to HIV/AIDS causes you can trust, please check out the Elton John AIDS Foundation, Black AIDS Institute, Mercury Phoenix Trust, amfAR, and Housing Works.
> 
> As always, all of the characters and stories are purely fictional and are not meant to represent any real people. Please excuse fictional Harry's comical ignorance; he is still learning.  
> Feel free to talk to me in the comments—I love hearing everyone's thoughts and theories I try to respond to them all! Thanks for reading and enjoy!  
> -K

There were very few reasons for why Harry wouldn’t want to see Freddie Mercury on the cover of the morning paper, but the headline he spotted across the Seattle Times when he stopped to get a pack of Camel Lights on November 26th, 1991 had to be at the top of the list. He flattened the page across the counter as the clerk rang up his items, shaking his head sadly.

“Shit,” he said as he stared at the cover, his hand rubbing at the scruff on his cheek as he leaned over the lotto ticket glass.

“That’s seven sixty-two,” the clerk said. She couldn’t have looked less impressed with Harry settling himself in. At least three pieces of gum were being chomped in her mouth as she raised her eyebrows at him.

“Is this confirmed?” he asked her. “He’s really gone?”

“It’s in all the news, dude. I’m pretty sure it’s true.”

“Wow…” he shook his head again. He wasn’t the biggest Queen fan in the world, but hell, everyone knew Freddie Mercury was one of the best performers on Earth. And gone just like that…

“Seven sixty-two,” the clerk reminded him.

“Oh, I didn’t actually want the paper,” he said, folding it back in half. “Just the smokes and this Coke.” He pushed the bottle closer to her.

“You’re already reading the paper.”

“No, I’m not. I merely skimmed the headlines as any well-informed citizen should.”

With a roll of her eyes, the clerk pressed more buttons on the register. “Five fifty,” she said.

“That’s more like it,” Harry grinned as he fished in his pocket for some cash. He pulled out a crinkled twenty and handed it over. The clerk eyed the money as she slowly took it from him.

“And you couldn’t afford the newspaper?”

“I said I didn’t want it, not that I couldn’t afford it,” Harry huffed.

“Right,” she said, not caring as much about this conversation as her questioning tone implied. There was a line forming behind Harry anyway. “Fourteen fifty is your change. Have a nice day.”

Harry gave her a forced, squinty-eyed smile as he collected his smokes and Coke. Pocketing the change, he turned to leave, only for a lightbulb to pop on over his head.

“Shit, I forgot a lighter!” he said, his feet doing a one-eighty. From the display at the front, the only colours of lighters they had left were pink and white, and he knew better than to pick the white one. He may not have sold any records yet, but Harry was staying as far away as he could from the musician’s curse.

As he reached to pull one out, he knocked over about five others in the process. The old man behind him let out a groan. Harry scrambled to get them all back in place, including the two that dropped on the floor.

“It’s a dollar five,” the clerk mumbled, not moving to help in the slightest.

“Thank you,” Harry said pointedly once he’d put them all back. Dropping five coins on the counter, he grabbed the last pink lighter in his fist. He was just as ready to get out of here as the three people in line behind him.

Using his back to push open the door, Harry tore open the plastic from his pack and pulled out a cigarette with his lips. After he got it lit, he tried his best to stuff everything into his jacket pockets, Coke included. Once he was a block away, he pulled out the paper he’d slid into the waistband of his pants. The occasional shoplift wasn’t new to him. He just needed a good distraction, was all. Newspapers should be free anyway, he always thought. Freedom of information and all that.

Harry unfolded the centre crease and skimmed the headline before flipping to the page with the article. Freddie had died yesterday morning in his home from complications of AIDS. He was forty-four years old. Harry shook his head, surprised he hadn’t heard about it sooner. Surprised it happened at all, actually. The rumours had been circling for years, but he chose not to believe them. It had been years since he ever bought a Queen record, but you don’t forget someone like that. Not when the world had already declared him a legend.

But Harry had a day to get on with, so he’d have to save the internal mourning for a bit later. He was sure he had a tape of _News of the World_ somewhere.

Continuing down the street, Harry slid the paper into his inner pocket, then pulled out the rolled up stack of flyers he’d been carrying around instead.

_Cherry Pez playing at the Jaded Pig pub._

_Saturday, November 30th, 9:30 PM. $5 at the door._

Putting up flyers almost felt useless at this point. Flyers went up on post collages of more flyers just to be covered up by other flyers. They’d played the Jaded Pig before to a pretty full house Then again, twenty people would make that place look like a full house, but twenty people were better than none, and it still paid a hundred bucks a night.

Harry would be the first one to admit his band was shit, but they were trying. Niall could groove on the bass while he sang and Liam, well, he could keep a beat. Harry had been shredding on guitar since he could walk, but coordinating with the others was proving to be more than difficult. But it was fun, and they were taking it seriously. Serious enough to make them about a hundred bucks a week, at least.

Harry was always the one tasked with flyer distribution. He had to get them designed, printed, and stapled to every post he could find at least a week before the show. There was a reason it was always his job: it was pretty much his only job. You could call him unemployed, he supposed, but only recently so. Recently, as in about two months ago when he got sacked from his bartender gig. He’d mixed drinks before, but might’ve stretched his qualifications to get hired in the lounge of a fancy restaurant uptown. With the prospect of the tips on those ten-dollar drinks, could you blame him?

So the clerk wasn’t necessarily wrong about her assumption that he couldn’t afford the paper. He had a twenty, but it was his last twenty until they got paid for their performance this weekend. Harry wasn’t without a home, though. He had an apartment until last month when his roommates kicked him out because they were tired of him not being able to make rent. For now, Niall’s couch made a pretty good bed. It was a pullout, after all.

With his cigarette pinched between his lips, Harry smashed the stapler against all four corners of the flyer. He really should’ve started looking into one of those staple guns he saw promoters using. It might’ve prevented the balancing act that resulted in his bottle of Coke taking a tumble down the busy Seattle sidewalk.

Harry watched it roll, almost letting the rest of the papers on his person take flight into the street as he chased after it, dodging people walking in other directions. Girls really had the right idea with purses, huh. Maybe he should’ve looked into getting a bag of his own.

The bottle stopped at a pair of Converse, and Harry stopped running before he ran into the person wearing them.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled as the stranger bent down to pick it up. He was carrying a stack of flyers of his own and had a roll of tape on his arm like a bracelet.

“This yours?” the stranger asked.

“Yeah, and now I’m glad I didn’t spring for the glass bottle,” Harry quipped, but the stranger didn’t laugh. Harry coughed to cover his smile, then took the bottle back from him.

The stranger tilted his head, his eyes on the flyers Harry was holding in a tube. “Are those handbills?” he asked.

“Oh!” Harry flattened the stack to show him. “Yeah, um, they’re for my band. We’re playing at the Jaded Pig next week. You interested in coming?”

“I don’t really do music.”

Harry gave him a funny look because those were five words he’d never heard strung together before. “What do you mean you don’t ‘do’ music?”

“Not a concert fan,” he shrugged, leaning a hip against the wall he was hanging a flyer of his own on. “I’m sure you guys are great, though.”

“We suck, actually,” Harry said.

That, surprisingly, did make the stranger laugh. “At least you’re honest.”

“What are you promoting?” Harry wondered, taking a peek behind his head. He dug around in his pocket for his new lighter, realizing his cigarette had gone out in the process of chasing down his fleeing drink.

“Not promoting. I’m the service manager at a bar downtown. You ever heard of Club Rose?”

Harry shook his head while blowing out a puff of smoke. “Nope.”

“Well, we’re looking for bartenders if those Jaded Pig gigs aren’t helping with the rent much.”

Ouch. Callout. Especially considering he didn’t even have rent to pay at the moment, and that wasn’t something to be proud of. Although, Niall would only allow him to freeload for so long. He probably had a notebook to keep track of every expense. That shower bill had to have been adding up.

But Harry did need a job, and mixing drinks was pretty much the only thing he could do to make a decent wage. Surprisingly, he found the drunk customers to be much easier to deal with than the sober ones. At least the drunk ones had an excuse for acting like idiots.

“How can I contact you?”

The stranger ripped a tab with a phone number off the bottom of the flyer for him.

“I’ll give you guys a call,” Harry said, putting the inside of his jacket on display as he tucked the tiny paper into his pocket next to the newspaper.

“Freddie Mercury,” the stranger said, pointing to the folded front cover. “What a tragedy, eh? That man really was something else. I saw Queen when I was a teenager and nothing has compared since.”

“I thought you didn’t _do_ music?” Harry pointed a finger, feeling like he caught him in the lie.

The stranger smiled a little oddly, standing up straight to collect himself. “Not anymore,” he said. “I should be going.”

“Yeah, sorry! I didn’t mean to keep you,” Harry said quickly. He had barely gotten one flyer up himself. He’d be lying if he said distractions weren’t common when he set out for promotional duties. Would you believe he’d already been out here an hour?

“No worries. Maybe I’ll see you around,” he smiled as he started on his way.

“Yes!” Harry called after him. “I’ll call you later and we’ll see if— Okay, see ya’!”

The stranger turned slightly only to offer a small wave over his shoulder. He was too far now for Harry to finish his thought. Maybe that was a little too forward. Enthusiasm was good when you needed a job though, right?

Why couldn’t making money be easier than this? Maybe Harry should’ve headed back in that store and picked out some scratchers to take his chances. He still had the change from that twenty and his palm was feeling particularly itchy today.

But, shit, he still had flyers to put up. That should’ve probably been first on the priority list. He could go back for scratchers later.

And make that phone call. He couldn’t forget about the phone call.

 

Niall refused to give Harry a key to the apartment. He believed that it cemented Harry’s promise that this arrangement was only temporary, and it was, but two months was a long time to have to use the call box just to get inside the building.

“Do you have any flyers left?” Niall’s scratchy, filtered voice came through the tiny speaker.

“Nope,” Harry affirmed. He had made a collage of the last ten on the bus shelter across the street. He was getting tired of walking, okay?

“You may enter,” Niall said. The buzzer sounded from the door signaling it had been unlocked, so Harry swung it open.

Harry realized that complaining about the apartment he was living in for free was haughty, but the fact that this building had five floors and no elevator was pretty ridiculous. The whole place was in need of some major renovations, especially those creaky floors, chipped walls, and the leak directly above the entrance. Harry swore that a drop waited for him specifically to walk through the door before it decided to fall, just to make sure his day could never be going _too_ well.

Of course Niall had to live on the fifth floor, so Harry began his daily mountain scale, having to listen to the creaks on every step. It wasn’t like he was out of shape or anything, but who wants to end their day of walking all over the city with five flights of stairs to climb?

He wouldn’t dare mention any of that to Niall, though. Unless he wanted to end his day looking for dinner in the dumpster out back.

Thankfully, Niall was kind enough to unlock the apartment door before Harry made it to the top so he wouldn’t be left knocking in the hallway. “Honey, I’m home!” he said as he twisted the handle. Ha! That joke never got old.

“You do know we’re late for rehearsal, right?” Niall said, searching for his keys and jacket, both of which were usually taking up a chair of some sort.

“Oo, did you make dinner for the Mrs.?” Harry asked, noticing the half-empty pot of macaroni and cheese on the stove. He pulled open the cutlery drawer to grab a fork.

“She’s working late, but help yourself,” he said, disappearing back into his room with only one shoe on his foot. Harry wasn’t actually the Mrs. he was referring too. Niall had a girlfriend for about two years now and they had just recently moved in together, but you’d never know if you paid him a visit because it was rare she was ever home. Not that Harry was complaining. He didn’t mind her, but she couldn’t stand him and his freeloading tendencies. Niall blamed him for her constant absence, but not enough to kick him out, apparently.

“Wait, what do you mean ‘late for rehearsal’?” Harry shouted across the apartment, his mouth full off half-chewed noodles. He scraped the sides of the pot for extra cheese. “It’s Monday. Liam works nights on Mondays.”

“It’s Tuesday, man,” Niall said as he stomped down the short hall. He had two shoes now, but his jacket was still missing.

Remembering he had today’s paper in his pocket, Harry yanked it out to check the top corner. “What, no, it’s—”

_Tuesday, November 26th, 1991_

“Shit, it’s Tuesday!”

Niall tilted his head at him, pulling his jacket over his arms. “Why? I can’t imagine you had some big plans you forgot about.”

Nope, he didn’t. Definitely not an interview scheduled for about two hours ago that he wouldn’t have made even if he tried. One that could’ve resulted in a job that would solve all his problems. One that he was definitely not telling Niall he missed because he was not in the mood for a lecture.

“I _have_ an interview,” Harry quickly said. “Tomorrow. Just thought I had one more day to prepare, is all.” He scooped up another three forkfuls of macaroni. The last thing he consumed today was that bottle of Coke, which had absolutely no nutritional value unless you counted the caffeine.

(Harry did.)

“That’s good to hear. Where at?”

“A bar downtown. I didn’t stretch my qualifications this time, so it’s looking good.” It wasn’t technically a lie. An interview was implied, and it could be tomorrow if he worked quick enough.

“Whatever gets you off my couch. You ready to go?” Niall had finally found his set of keys and scooped them up. They were on the island in the kitchen the whole time. Harry would’ve pointed them out if he was paying any attention to his surroundings at all.

“I just have to pack up my—”

“Guitar? Already done.” Niall pointed with his thumb to the cases for the guitar and bass sitting on the floor next to the door.

“Man, you might not be organized, but you sure are on top of things.”

“Just one thing, now,” Niall winked, then turned to pick up his case and headed out the door.

Harry was left with his nose scrunched up and his mouth slightly agape. “Ew, what the f-”

“We’re going to be late!”

Picking up his guitar, he followed Niall into the hall and waited for him to lock up. Thank God he had the band’s van to take them to Liam’s. Harry had enough walking for one day.

 

Liam technically lived in a house. Technically, because the lack of proper furniture and vast amount of take-out containers and empty beer cans would prompt the assumption that this was a house for squatters. Well, maybe that was a slight exaggeration, but neither he or his roommate, Zayn, had bed frames for their mattresses and, while Harry didn’t have proof, he was pretty sure they picked up their couch from the suburbs during the trash collection ‘Big Item Day’.

The house was barely bigger than Niall’s apartment, but it had two bedrooms which was one more than Niall had. It also had a basement, which was the perfect setup for nightly rehearsals. Since Zayn worked nights, they had the freedom to be as loud as they wanted five nights a week. As long as Liam paid more of the rent, that is. The neighbours only called the cops about noise complaints twice, which wasn’t bad for the four months Liam had been living here.

“So you got an interview, then?” Liam asked from behind his drum kit. Thirty minutes into rehearsal and they hadn’t done much for playing, but Tuesday was their first rehearsal of the week and they had some catching up to do.

“Yeah, I’m going in tomorrow. Fingers crossed,” he said with a tight-lipped grin. He plucked a short riff on his guitar, the volume on the amp he was leaning against still quiet enough that they could still talk over it.

“What did you say the bar was called?” Niall asked. He was on the floor with his legs crossed, leaning back on his hands.

“Club Rose. You heard of it?”

“I think that’s where Zayn works!” Liam exclaimed brightly. “You should name drop him when you go in.”

“You think that would work?”

“When you’re desperate, you gotta try everything,” Niall said.

Harry shot him a look and flicked his pick in his direction. Niall just laughed and brushed it off.

From upstairs, the doorbell rang and Liam quickly jumped up from his stool.

“Did you order food or something?” Harry asked.

Liam stopped at the bottom of the stairs before racing up. “Actually, I forgot to tell you guys—Niall, you know how you mentioned you didn’t like being a frontman?”

“Oh, do I…”

“Well, I met someone over the weekend who I thought would be perfect, so I sent an invite over for a little audition,” he informed them, then sprinted the rest of the way up before anyone could protest.

Niall and Harry looked at each other in confusion. A new frontman? Without consulting either of them? Wasn’t this band a democracy?

“So Liam finds some dude on the street and decides he can be our new lead singer?” Niall scoffed. Harry could hear Liam’s excited hello before the footsteps started down the stairs again. “What does he have that I don’t?”

“You don’t even want to be the frontman!” Harry said.

Their new guest came into view, and upon one glance Harry could think of a couple of things that would answer Niall’s question.

“Harry, Niall, this is Wren.”

With a smile, Wren waved politely as they reached the bottom step. Her hair was short and dyed black like the punk rock girls from the 80s and she had a beanie covering it. Over her jeans the wore a Replacements t-shirt, which wasn’t the worst of early punk, and every single one of her fingers had a cheap ring on it. A little excessive, to be honest, but for her, it worked.

“Hey, guys,” she said casually, looking like she wasn’t too sure where to stand. “I hear you’re looking for a new singer?”

“Well, Liam, she is your type,” Niall quipped.

“Don’t be a dick,” Harry snapped at him. He understood Niall’s frustration, but there was no need to make her feel uncomfortable. Chances were that she wouldn’t even work out, anyway.

“Actually, he’s not much of _my_ type,” she said, then turned to Liam. “Is it fair to assume you don’t have a vagina?”

Liam went a little pale but laughed to mask it. “Uh, that is fair, yes,” he said.

“Any female-identifying characteristics?”

“...No?” He seemed unsure that time.

“I figured,” Wren shrugged, her hands resting on her hips. “Now that we have that sorted, do you guys want to hear me sing, or what?”

Harry stood up to collect the microphone and stand from the back corner, finding the other end of the cord to plug in. He didn’t have much time to react, but Harry would admit that the quick revelation of information did slightly stun him.

“What are you gonna sing?” Niall asked while Harry finished setting up. Wren took the stage, or rather, the carpet they liked to pretend was a stage, and adjusted the stand to her height.

“You guys listened to much of The Runaways?”

“Joan Jett, right?” Harry asked. He was still fiddling with the knobs on the speaker, trying to get the sound to work. He didn’t know why he decided to take the task on himself. His tech knowledge started and ended with an on/off switch and the three guitar pedals he rotated between. This was more up Liam’s alley.

“That’s right,” she nodded, looking pleased. “I was thinking a little Cherry Bomb.” Just as she said it, the microphone blasted her voice. Harry twisted the knob down until the volume was less likely to make their ears bleed.

The three of them began to move themselves to the couch at the other side of the room, typically where Zayn or Niall’s girlfriend would watch from when they stopped by during rehearsal.

“You aren’t going to play along?” Wren raised an eyebrow at them.

“Uhh,” Liam began, and the three of them exchanged glances. That did make sense, they supposed. Harry had a pretty vague idea of how to play the song and Liam and Niall could probably make it up as they went along. “Cherry Bomb” was a good song, but it wasn’t like it was the pinnacle example of beautiful musicianship.

“Yeah, we can play,” Harry said on behalf of the group.

Truth be told, they had never had to audition a new member before so the process was fairly new to them. Cherry Flavoured Pez started out with a pretty loose idea of what it meant to form a band. When Harry first abandoned his hometown in Utah to come to Seattle at nineteen years old, he decided he wanted to be in a band like every other teenager in the late eighties, so he put up signs. He got two phone calls and a week later they had their first practiced. Thus, Cherry Pez was born, and no one had any idea what the fuck they were doing.

About ten seconds into the song was when they realized that Wren was better than all three of them put together. She even managed to adapt to their occasional loss of the general rhythm of the song. Not to mention the way she moved that seemed so natural. She knew how to be a frontman—or frontwoman, Harry supposed. She had the kind of voice that made you _want_ to shred the guitar, not like you had to do it just to wake up the audience. That alone made it easier for everyone else to get into the groove of things. It was probably their best performance in months and they didn’t even have an audience.

The three of them pretended to debate their decision in private for a few moments, but even Niall knew they had to bring her on board. It would be a new sound and she’d have to learn the few songs they had, but she could be their key to actually making it somewhere.

“Alright,” Niall announced once they broke apart their huddle on the opposite side of the room. “You’re in the band.”

“Sick,” Wren nodded approvingly. “Should we start rehearsal? I really think we could use it.”

‘We’ meant them, not her. All she had to learn was the lyrics, and even those she was already starting to get a handle on. They still had a lot of work to do if they wanted to get anywhere. That wasn’t happening any time soon.

“Hey, Niall,” Harry said as they found their spots again. “Remind me when we get home that—”

“Home?” Niall scoffed. He didn’t want Harry getting _too_ comfortable.

“Just remind me that I have a phone call to make.”

It would probably be rude to show up for an interview unannounced.


	2. Chapter 2

Finding a crumpled up dollar bill in the couch cushions the next morning felt like hitting the jackpot. It was likely Harry’s anyway since this couch also doubled as his bed, but he was thrilled to not have to make an extra stop to make change from that last ten dollars of his. The rest had gone to a pair of losing scratchers. Safe to say he wouldn’t be developing a gambling addiction any time soon.

Niall and his girlfriend were already at their respective jobs by the time Harry woke up, meaning it was one of those rare days that he got to have the place to himself and the spare key to lock up. That also meant that the coffee leftover in the pot from this morning was cold, but caffeine was caffeine, so he dragged himself off of the couch to nuke a cup in the microwave. It was nice not to be yelled at for walking around in his boxers every once in a while. Who bothers to put on pants first thing in the morning?

The time on the microwave read 1:30, which was actually not bad considering that was the same time they got back from rehearsal last night. Not bad for him, anyway.

Finding the loaf of bread on the counter, Harry popped two slices in the toaster and opened the fridge to search for the spreadable cheese. With a diet of coffee, cigarettes, carbs, and cheese, you’d think Harry was on his way to a scurvy diagnosis. Once in a while, he’d throw an apple into the equation. He was basically a vegetarian.

With his breakfast of champions and a magazine tucked under his arm, Harry swiped his pack of cigarettes off the top of the blanket pile on the couch, along with a jacket because it was still November and Jack Frost would soon be nibbling at his nose. Sliding the balcony door open, he got himself settled into the folding chair and set his plate down on the plastic table. That was one good thing about this apartment building, he supposed. He didn’t have to go all the way down those stairs just to have a smoke, because there was no way Niall’s girlfriend was letting him do that inside. He was going to quit soon, anyway. Or try, at least. Liam even bought him one of those step-by-step guide tapes that was supposed to help.

Harry liked reading fanzines he picked up from the record store a few blocks over. They were much better than the tabloids or big publishers like _Rolling Stone,_ full of writers who thought their opinion somehow mattered more. Were they responsible for bands selling out tours? They probably liked to think so. But no, it was the fans who made these magazines. People who actually gave a shit about the music, not just a paycheck. Some of these new punk zines even gave reviews of smaller bands around the city. Harry kept trying to run into the distributor every time he came into the store to see if he could schmooze and interview for Cherry Pez, but they were yet to cross paths. He did always leave a flyer on the bulletin board above the stacks of magazines, though, just in case.

It was getting far too cold outside for any of this to be enjoyable, so Harry opened the door again to yank his blanket off the couch. He wrapped it around himself like a cape, pulling the slack over his head and letting the rest drag on the ground. Much better.

Having virtually no responsibilities really felt like living the high life. No reason to wake up early in the morning, no one to tell him what to do—when he was here alone, at least. He could sit out here to chain smoke and drink shitty coffee all day if he wanted to. Or, until Niall and his girlfriend came home.

Alright, so it was kind of like living the high life, but more like being an unemployed teenager on summer vacation. Minus the nice weather. Damn, it really was cold out here.

Harry squished the rest of his cigarette into the ashtray and collected his dishes to bring back into the apartment. It was almost 2pm now. When he made the call last night, he was told to stop by Club Rose around four for an interview. He spoke to the owner who sounded absolutely nothing like the guy he met on the street yesterday, so he wasn’t really sure who he was meeting with. He seemed kind of rushed and didn’t give a ton of information other than an address. Either way, Harry had to make an impression, and the next stop was the shower. The biggest perk of sharing an apartment with a girl was obviously using flowery shampoo. Even if she specifically told him not to. At least Harry knew exactly what he was getting Niall’s girlfriend for her birthday this year.

Taking the bus was Harry’s main option for pretty much anywhere he wanted to go. He could walk too, but the bus was far more convenient and he was less likely to get lost or distracted, both of which were common occurrences. Some stores just looked too interesting to be left un-browsed.

He always sat near the back and next to a window if he could, people watching or flipping through whatever paper someone left behind. Taking the bus was kind of nice, he always thought. Your only real obligation was to sit there until you reached your destination. You could daydream to your heart’s content.

Or, you could stress last-minute about an interview you didn’t prepare for in the slightest. Normally, Harry found it in himself to walk into these things relaxed, but it suddenly dawned on him that he had told his friends about this interview. Having to tell them about another rejection wasn’t too high on the list of things he wanted to be doing this week. Not that his schedule wasn’t exactly packed.

Harry was pretty sure he got off at the right stop, thanking the bus driver who never heard him as he slipped out the back door, but this was a side of town he’d never been to before. He’d been living in Seattle for about two years now, but he never took the time to fully explore the city. There were a few areas he quickly got comfortable with, then didn’t bother to spread any further than that.

The entrance wasn’t much more than a neon sign and a door, which opened to steps leading to a basement. Harry knew to expect this much since that’s what he was told over the phone, but he really wasn’t sure what kind of club he was walking into.

The place was surprisingly brightly lit, but he supposed it was only four in the afternoon and they probably weren’t expecting customers until the time hit double digits. There were a lot of colours around, mainly neon pink and blue lights. A small stage filled the far end of the room and Harry definitely noticed the stripper pole in the corner of it. What his eyes first picked up, though, was the bar that took up half of the main wall. That was where he’d be spending all his time, if he could get the job.

As far as Harry could tell, there was only one other person in the whole place, and he was standing behind the bar hunched over a stack of papers. He looked up when he heard Harry walk in, then set his pen down in front of him.

“I was right, then. I would see you around,” he said, and Harry recognized him immediately as the stranger from the street. It wasn’t even that much of a familiar face, but it instantly put Harry more at ease. “Good to see you showed up. Have a seat.” He gestured to the stool in front of him. Harry crossed the room faster, figuring this open space would probably feel a lot smaller once you had a bunch of sweaty bodies packed in here.

“It’s nice to properly meet you,” Harry said, reaching his hand over the bar. “I’m Harry,” he said.

The former stranger accepted the shake with a kind smile. “Louis. Nice to meet you, too.”

“I’m not too early, am I?”

Louis looked at the watch on his wrist, then back up with an amused smile. “It’s 4:08,” he said.

That was early for Harry, but he wasn’t about to mention that in a job interview.

“Sorry,” Harry quickly said. “I’ve never been to this area before. Had a little trouble finding the place.”

“The big rose on the sign didn’t help?”

He couldn’t tell if Louis was joking or not, so he just laughed along a little awkwardly.

“Once I found the street, I suppose.”

Harry looked down at the table where Louis was scribbling something on a sheet of paper. He suddenly felt like his every move was being analyzed, so he cleared his throat and straightened his back. Should he have dressed a little nicer for this? He wore a grey button-up over jeans, both actually fitting rather than two sizes too big. The shirt may have come from Niall’s closest, but he’d never know it was missing.

“Oh, um, I thought I’d mention that a friend of mine works here. I think he works behind the bar. Zayn is his name.”

“You know Zayn? I’m surprised he didn’t mention you. He’s a good friend of mine, as well.”

Harry wouldn’t call Zayn a good friend of his, exactly. He liked the guy fine, but they mostly only knew each other in passing. He wasn’t a huge fan of Cherry Pez’s kind of music, although he had shown up to the occasional show to support Liam. The two of them had been childhood friends whose lives didn’t totally mashup by the time they reached their twenties, but their friendship never wavered, hence why they could still live together.

“So, we’re just looking for weeknight bartenders,” Louis continued. “We don’t have shows on weekdays so we keep it more like a casual dance bar. Do you know how to make the basics? Vodka slime, rum and coke, gin and tonic, that kind of thing?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said. That wasn’t a lie. He did learn something in his three months as an under-qualified bartender.

“Sometimes the girls backstage ask for something fancier before they go on, but most of them just order shots. In general, it’s a lot of shots. How much experience do you have, exactly?”

Girls backstage? Was this a strip club? Not that he was above working in a strip club, but he wasn’t even sure he’d been to one before. Most of his outings included concerts or basement bar shows, even if he wasn’t the one playing.

“Well, my last job was six months,” he said. That _was_ a lie, but surely it didn’t make a difference.

“That’s good to hear. I’m sure you’d catch on quickly, as well.”

A bold assumption, Harry thought, but he’d try his best.

“Yes, I’m a very quick learner,” he said. He’d managed to slack off through his whole high school career without flunking out, so that had to count for something.

“And you’re available all week? It would be a while before we put you on a weekend shift if we had to.”

“My schedule is very open,” he said. The band had no problem shuffling rehearsals as long as it meant Harry was actually employed.

More scribbling.

“Perfect,” he said without looking up. “And you are gay, right?”

Harry creased his eyebrows together. That was a question he’d never been asked before, especially not by a practical stranger. He wasn’t sure what that would have to do with this, anyway. “I’m not, no,” he said.

Louis stopped writing. “Are you bi, then?”

“Um…”

“You do know this a gay bar, right? I mean, technically you don’t _have_ to not be straight to work here but, uh, most straight guys don’t really want to work in a gay bar.”

Harry had a lot of questions, none of which he wanted to ask at risk of offending. He looked around the room in confusion, as if there were some clues he missed that indicated that this was, in fact, a gay bar. Besides a giant rainbow flag, he wasn’t even sure what to search for.

It wasn’t like he could accept the job now. He didn’t belong in a place like this. His list of past relationships wasn’t exactly long, but the only names on it belonged to girls. Actually, he wasn’t sure if ‘relationships’ was the right word. He’d been on a few dates and had a couple of brief encounters, so to speak, that he didn’t like to think about because he always felt weird about them afterward. There was his eighth-grade girlfriend, but she broke up with him the day after their first kiss. His poor fourteen-year-old heart felt so used.

“You said you were friends with Zayn, so I figured you knew,” Louis shrugged. Clearly, this wasn’t as big of a deal for him. He probably had a list of other potential candidates who were coming in later.

“I didn’t know,” Harry admitted. He didn’t even know Zayn wasn’t straight, which must have been the case if he worked here. Did Liam even know? That was ridiculous, of course he had to know. He lived with the guy. As for Harry, the only gay person he knew personally was Wren, and he met her yesterday.

Of course, Harry had nothing against any of this, it was just a world he wasn’t used to. He grew up in a famously conservative part of Utah, which happened to be his primary reason for fleeing to Seattle, to begin with. As much as he liked to keep his mind open and accepting, it wasn’t easy completely rejecting what he grew up being told was right and wrong. This wasn’t _wrong_ , it just wasn’t… him.

“Do you have any other questions?” Harry asked. He watched Louis flip over the sheet he was writing on and place it at the bottom of the stack.

“We have your phone number, right?” Louis asked.

“You should, yes.”

“Then we’ll call you. Have a good night, Harry,” he said with a tight-lipped smile, then collected his stack of papers before disappearing through a door to the back room.

Harry supposed that was his cue to leave.

His sneakers squeaked with every step as he crossed the room, and the door let out a loud creak as he pulled it open. This room could not have been this echoey when he first came in. Jogging up the steps, he quickly reached the cold outdoors and headed back to the bus stop.

So much for getting his hopes up. Harry was pretty sure there was no need to spend the next few days eagerly waiting next to the phone. This wouldn’t be fun news to break to Niall.

 

Rehearsal turned out to be much more productive now that they had an unbiased third party to push them into, you know, actually rehearsing. The chances of this newfound productivity weren’t likely to last, though. It was only a matter of time before Wren became fully immersed in the antics of their little friend group, and rehearsals would be back to business as usual.

That probably wasn’t a good thing.

But, as it turned out, Wren was actually pretty cool to hang around. She was funny, which was pretty obvious from the first few words they came out of her mouth, and she had a take-no-shit-from-anyone attitude, which was much needed for a group of two pushovers and one guy who was too un-bothered to be assertive. How else would Harry have convinced Niall to let him stay so long?

There was one fault, though. The addition of Wren meant that Harry was no longer the only guitarist in the band. Niall could play guitar too, but he was more the chill type to play an acoustic while sitting on the couch watching TV or hanging out with his girlfriend. The closest thing to true love Harry ever had was his electric guitar, but when Wren showed up with a cherry red Gibson 355 almost identical to that Eric Clapton 60s classic, well, he was about ready to weep.

That was until he pulled out his old Hendrix.

Harry didn’t have a lot of possessions he found to be valuable. He loved his records but had to sell them when he moved because he had nowhere to store them and most of his favourites he already had on tape anyway. Photos were all at his parents' house and he never found a use for a camera of his own. He used to love to read, but the books had to go with his records. Most of them were still probably sitting at the second-hand store. But he had his Hendrix. Well, what he liked the call his Hendrix.

Fender Stratocaster, cream white: he _wished_ it could be from 1968, the same year as the one Jimi Hendrix played at Woodstock. When he bought it used, the guy claimed it was from the early 70s, but Harry never knew for sure. At the time, he was playing the same guitar since the Yamaha he saved up for when he was thirteen. His first paycheck since living in Seattle went to the white Strat, and it was now his baby.

“I didn’t know you played,” Harry said to Wren nonchalantly as he tuned for the next song. He had shown up late because of his interview, which he was still yet to break the news about, and in his absence, Wren was deemed their new rhythm guitarist. Harry could deal with that, he supposed. As long as his spot as the lead wasn’t taken over.

“My dad started teaching me around six,” she said, messing around with a riff.

“Who are your heroes?” Niall wondered. “The guitar gods you look up to.”

“I mean, no one has technique like Richie Havens. Brian May is amazing once you can decode what the hell is going on in that scientist brain of his. Of course, you gotta mention Hendrix.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed.

“But, I mean, I love Joan Jett. If we’re talking heroes, she’s at the top of the list,” Wren sighed with a smile. “I had her posters all over my teenage bedroom wall. That’s probably how I knew I was gay,” she laughed.

Harry couldn’t tell if that was a joke or not, so he just laughed along anyway.

In the middle of their conversation, footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs and everyone turned towards the sound.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Zayn said, poking his head beneath the floorboards.

“Not at all!” Liam stood from his stool and placed both drumsticks in one hand. “Were we being too loud? I didn’t think you’d be home yet.”

“It was slow, so we closed early,” Zayn said.

“That reminds me,” Niall pointed to Harry. “How’d the interview go?”

“Actually, I was hoping I could talk to Harry about that,” Zayn said. “Are you too busy?”

Harry perked up, turning to Zayn. He knew what this was about, and it wasn’t a job offer. Louis must’ve mentioned him at work tonight. He felt bad, honestly, that he knew Zayn’s secret before he was willing to tell them on his own, but he’d keep it to himself until Zayn was ready.

“No, I can talk,” Harry quickly said, setting his guitar down on its stand. “Should we go upstairs?”

“Uh, sure...” Zayn said, leading the way.

They reached the main hallway of the house and Zayn turned to lean a shoulder against the wall. Harry mimicked the stance, hoping to look casual about this whole thing. No sweat at all. He didn’t care if Zayn was gay. That was his own business.

“Louis, my boss, he told me about your interview today,” Zayn began. “You should’ve talked to me before you went.”

“You’re right, and I’m sorry,” Harry shook his head. “I didn’t mean to find out like that. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Zayn tilted his head, a crease between his eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“That you’re gay!” Harry exclaimed, then immediately retreated to a whisper when he realized how loud he was talking. “Sorry. Does Liam know?”

Zayn couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Uh, it’s not a secret that I’m gay. Did you not know?”

“What? No!” Harry was taken aback. He and Zayn weren’t best friends, but he thought he would’ve known that much about him. They had gone out to bars, partied together, hung out at shows. Harry knew he could be a little aloof, but this was a new level.

“I thought Liam would have mentioned it. It’s not a big deal. Not unless you make it one.”

“It’s not a big deal!” Harry said quickly, getting the strong feeling that he was, in fact, treating this situation like it was a big deal.

“Well, anyway, Louis wants to offer you the job.”

“Really? Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? You applied to work there.”

“No, I mean— Like, I’m not—”

“Look, if I’m being honest, I’m surprised he’s offering you the job too, but we’re desperate for people. He can’t find anyone with the proper experience and availability, and for some reason, he gets the impression that because you know me that he can trust you. What do you say?”

“Um…” Harry stuttered, folding his arms and kicking his foot at the ground. Zayn raised his eyebrows at him like he was expecting an instant yes, but this all felt weird. A gay bar was not a place meant for him, but at the same time, he was getting desperate. “Can I think about it?”

Zayn sighed even though his expression indicated that he wasn’t surprised about the answer. “Louis wants an answer by Monday.”

“I can do that,” Harry said.

“If you want my advice, I say take the job. We both know you need it and you won’t lose anything by giving it a try. Yeah, you might feel like you won’t fit in, but you’re not there to hook up with anyone. It’s just a job.”

Harry nodded, knowing everything Zayn was saying was absolutely right, and it wasn’t helping him pick a side. He had no clue what choice would be the right one.

“I’ll think about it,” he repeated.

“Cool. Just give me a call Monday morning,” Zayn patted him lightly on the back. “I’ll let Louis know what you decide.”

“Thanks, man,” Harry smiled.

And with that, Zayn turned to his room, and Harry headed back to the basement. Honestly, he couldn’t wait to get to playing. He really needed that sweet release of an amplified electric guitar. A cigarette would also do quite nicely at the moment. Good thing Zayn was a smoker too. Smoking in the house wasn’t just allowed, it was practically expected.

That being said, Harry really needed to work on quitting. If he might be employed soon, cigarettes weren’t something he wanted to be draining his paychecks on.


	3. Chapter 3

“I don’t understand why you can’t change when we get there,” Niall said from the driver’s seat, shaking his head as he watched Harry struggle to get his arm through the first sleeve.

“I can’t show up in sweatpants! And have you _seen_ the bathrooms in that place?”

“This wouldn’t be a problem if you woke up on time,” Liam pointed out.

“Honking from the alley below the window is not an alarm clock!”

“Who takes a nap at seven o’clock at night?” Wren laughed.

Niall took a sharp left turn, making Harry’s elbow smack right into a cymbal stand. “Fuck!” he yelped, grabbing his funny bone in pain. At least the quick motion got his arm through the hole.

“Sorry!” Niall said, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“You know, I’ve never seen someone get carried to a car by their hands at feet before,” Wren teased. “You didn’t even struggle.”

That wasn’t actually what happened. It was more like a lot of yelling to “Get your ass up!” and shoving him out the door while he gathered his clothes in his hands, but Harry played along.

“I just hate going up and down those stairs,” Harry groaned. He sat on the ground to pull his pants on because he wasn’t even going to attempt to balance on one leg in a moving vehicle. 

“You know what would solve that problem?” Niall asked, making his answer quite obvious.

“Hey Liam, you sure I can’t crash on you and Zayn’s couch?” 

Harry was starting to run out of breath as he stuck one foot out the bottom of his pant leg. Who know changing clothes in the back of a van would be so exhausting?

“Sure, as soon as you get a job that can contribute to the rent,” Liam grinned.

He was working on that…

For their first performance as a four-piece, Niall and Wren decided to share lead-singing duties until Wren was more comfortable with their usual setlist. Despite his claims that he really didn’t want to be the frontman, Niall was also hesitant to hand over the mic. But four rehearsals in and Wren was fitting in better than any of them expected.

Eventually, Liam explained the actual circumstances he and Wren had met under, and after hearing the story, Harry didn’t know why the hell she was here. Someone had to tell Liam that, being a grown man, he didn’t come off as innocent as he saw himself in his head when it came to talking to strangers.

Liam’s day job was a cab driver, a gig he never complained about and quite enjoyed the tips from. He also got to “store” his cab at home, which really meant that he got a free loaner car as long as he worked there. The company claimed that he wasn’t supposed to drive it when he wasn’t working, but the rules were loose and he hadn’t gotten in trouble yet.

Last weekend, Wren happened to be his customer on one of the usual longer commutes from the airport into the city after her flight back from visiting some family. She had mentioned an old band she used to be in, and Liam had mentioned that his band was looking for a singer. They exchanged numbers and two phone calls later she was ringing the doorbell for an audition.

As he said, Harry had no clue why she said yes. Don’t accept auditions from your weird cab driver, kids.

With that said, if need be, Wren could’ve definitely kicked Liam’s ass.

The Jaded Pig was so small that there wasn’t really space for a dressing room, hence the bathroom being Harry’s only alternative to get changed if he wasn’t willing to struggle in the van. Setting up was all done on their own since roadies were clearly not part of their entourage. They conducted their own soundcheck with the few amps available, and then they got a drink from the bar and waited.

It was rarely a full house at the Jaded Pig, but they drew somewhat of a crowd. Enough that the floor wasn’t empty and at least half of the bar seemed into it. The other half were likely just there because this was their weekend hangout spot, but the band could pretend it was all them.

The truth was, Wren really did make Cherry Pez better. Niall was still a great musician and essential as their trusted bass player, but it was like Wren had the exact sound they were missing. They still kind of sucked, there was no doubting that. But maybe Wren could help them get on the right track to sucking a little less.

They had ten songs of their own and the rest were covers, which wasn’t bad considering how long it took them to realize that they should probably play more than _just_ covers. Their own songs were divided through the night to keep the audience interested with what they already knew. But man, was it fun to play their own songs. That’s when Harry could really let it all out on the guitar solos. Liam and Niall tended to get a little frustrated once he passed the one minute mark, but he wasn’t letting them spoil his fun.

One of the best things about playing in bars was the free drinks. Keep a mug side stage and chances are, you’ll have a new beer between each song if you drink fast enough. None of them actually ever drank that much—this wasn’t Motlëy Cruë they were talking about—but the point that it was free and practically bottomless. Once it got late enough at the end of their set, when they were sweaty and hyped up with adrenaline, they sometimes handed around a bottle of whatever hard liquor ended up in one of their hands, more for the crowd reaction than anything else. Harry didn’t typically drink a lot, but post-show was the best time to get absolutely smashed. Once in awhile, anyway.

When the house music came on, they packed up their instruments into the van out back, then headed back inside to finish off the after-party of sorts. By then, they were already a few rounds behind, so Harry ordered four shots from the bar.

“Actually, just make it three,” Wren told the bartender.

“Tapping out early?” Harry asked as he slid each shot down to the guys who found stools for themselves.

“I don’t drink, actually,” she told him.

Harry was mildly surprised, but thinking back he supposed she hadn’t been partaking in that portion of the on-stage antics. 

“Never?” he raised an eyebrow, then turned quickly to cheers with Niall and Liam, hit his glass on the counter, then downed the vodka all at once.

“Alcoholism runs in the family. Better to just stay away from it altogether,” Wren shrugged. “But hey, you guys get a designated driver every night,” she added to lighten the mood from her previous statement.

“Very true,” Harry said, feeling the sudden rush from the shot. He was definitely not in the right state of mind to be having a conversation like this. It didn’t exactly feel appropriate.

“I’m gonna grab a Coke. I’ll see you around,” Wren patted him on the back and grinned before circling the bar to find a few of her other friends who showed up.

Harry ordered a water next because beer wasn’t really the thirst quencher that advertisers wanted you to believe. He chugged half of it in one go, then turned back to his friends. Niall was already long gone searching for his girlfriend, which wasn’t surprising, but Liam always stuck around. The two of them tended to tackle outings like this as a pair. Harry also considered himself to be quite the charming wingman. Liam, not so much, so you could guess who was more likely to bring someone home tonight

Hint: it wasn’t the one who previously claimed his guitar to be both his baby and his true love.

Harry noticed Liam’s lips moving, but he couldn’t hear a word that was coming out of them. They really liked to blast the music here, which was only annoying when he was trying to talk, not so much during the show.

“WHAT?” he shouted, leaning his ear closer to Liam’s mouth.

“I said, I think that’s Zayn over there!” Liam shouted back, pointing to the opposite end of the bar. “He said he might come to the show tonight. I told him to bring a friend.”

And bring a friend, he did. Harry turned just as Zayn had waved and got off his stool to come greet them. In his wake was Zayn’s current and Harry’s possible soon-to-be boss. 

“Hey, man. Glad you could make it,” Liam said, standing to give Zayn a one-armed hug as if the last time they’d seen each other was months ago, not just this morning.

“Of course! You guys were good!” Zayn boasted. Good, but not great. And he was right.

Harry looked past Zayn long enough to make brief, slightly awkward eye contact with Louis that was long enough for Zayn to notice.

“Oh, I forgot to introduce everyone. This is my friend, Louis.” So he was his friend tonight, not his boss. “Louis, this is Liam and I believe you’ve already met Harry.”

“I have,” Louis smiled, but still shook Harry’s hand after Liam’s. Interesting to see him here, Harry thought, considering one of the few things he distinctly remembered from their interactions was that Louis didn’t “do” music. Harry didn’t say anything about it, though. He barely knew the guy. 

“Can we get you guys a drink?” Liam offered, clapping his hands together.

Soon, the group of them were sitting around a booth with a round of beers, spending the next couple of hours engaged in mindless conversation. Harry was still wondering where Niall went, but it was likely that he had left with his girlfriend without them even knowing. Hopefully they had taken her car and not the van so Wren’s D.D. offer didn’t go unused. 

“I’m gonna go have a smoke,” Harry said, finishing off the last gulp of his drink. Since it was nearing two in the morning, he decided that was probably enough for him. “Zayn, care to join?”

“I’m alright,” he said, more invested in the conversation with Wren, who had also joined their table. 

“I’ll come with you,” Louis said, already pulling on his jacket that was stuffed between his back and the seat of the booth.

“Cool,” Harry nodded, even though he was hesitant to be alone with Louis after how awkward their interview went. Why he was offering him a job in the first place, Harry had no idea. He wouldn’t even know how to act in a gay bar. Maybe he was being a little dramatic about the prospect of working in one, but he would be the first to admit his knowledge of that ‘scene’ was slim to none.

Harry held the door open when they reached the smoking area, Louis thanking him as it swung closed. It had gotten significantly colder out and Harry was regretting not bringing anything warmer than his denim jacket. He didn’t always have the convenience of a warm blanket when he wanted to have a smoke.

Leaning against the wall, Harry pulled out his pack and lit one up. As he let out a puff, he noticed Louis was just standing there, staring at the dark street in front of them with his hands in his pockets.

“Do you need to bum one?” Harry asked, offering his pack.

“Oh, no, I don’t smoke,” Louis said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Why did you want to come have a smoke with me then?”

“Bars get so stuffy at night sometimes. Half of my employees probably think I smoke because I take all my midnight breaks outside,” he laughed. “I tried smoking once in high school like everyone else. Didn’t like it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a bad habit. I’ve been wanting to quit for a while.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Addiction, mainly.” 

Louis gave a look that made Harry breathe a laugh.

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged. “Maybe I just think it looks cool.”

“Your lungs probably don’t look cool.”

“Are you about to give my freshman class a life-changing P.S.A?”

“Seems like whoever gave yours didn’t do a great job.”

“Or I just didn’t listen,” Harry countered as he took another drag.

They weren’t the only people out here, but everyone else was minding their own business. Louis seemed quite interested in their surroundings, his eyes following every car that passed and his head turning towards a group when someone laughed too loud. Harry realized it was probably weirder that he was watching Louis than it was for Louis to be watching strangers. He did have a question he still wanted to ask, though, but he wondered if his current, mostly drunk, state made now the best time.

“Louis, I was wondering-”

“Are you hungry?”

“Hm?”

“Do you want to get some food? There’s a late-night pizza place like two blocks over.”

Until the mention of food, Harry forgot the fact that he hadn’t eaten since before his afternoon nap and all the energy he let out on stage made his stomach start begging for anything that was edible. That explained why the alcohol was going so quickly to his head. Pizza sounded like the perfect solution.

“Yeah, I could eat,” Harry said. “Should we see who else wants to come?” He pointed his thumb back towards the door.

“Nah, we’re already out here. We’ll be fast enough that they’ll hardly know we left.”

“Alright,” Harry decided, dropping his finished cigarette on the ground and scraping it across the pavement with his shoe. “Lead the way.”

This area of the city was always rowdy on Saturday nights. Even when the weather didn’t agree with bar hopping, it wasn’t stopping anyone, especially college kids. College was unfamiliar territory for Harry, but those kids were the audience his band was after, so the fact that they were still coming out was good to see. Also, because of those partying college kids, the area had been blessed with late-night restaurants serving every greasy food you could imagine.

They jogged across the street, not bothering to find a crosswalk or caring if they got honked at because that was just what everyone did around here. Crosswalks were too slow, anyway. When they got inside reached the counter, Harry ordered plain cheese while Louis got a slice with pepperoni. 

“It’s on me,” Louis said, pulling out his wallet.

“Oh, you don’t—”

“My pleasure,” he said as he handed over the bill in exchange for two paper plates that were already stained with grease just from the slices resting on them.

Harry smiled a little awkwardly. “Thanks.”

Finding a spot at the counter in front of the window, they each pulled out a stool and began digging in. The pizza was salty and delicious and everything Harry was craving at the moment. Free was also a nice bonus, but he was getting suspicious about how friendly Louis was being to him, a virtual stranger. They had barely reached the acquaintance phase and he was already buying him pizza.

“This is the best pizza place on this side of the city,” Louis said over a mouthful of cheese and dough.

“You live around here?” Harry asked.

“Not now, but I went to college at Northeastern.”

“Oh, what do you have a degree in?”

Louis let out a short laugh. “No degree. Dropped out in my second year. Undeclared. My mom was hoping I’d study law, but it never interested me.”

“Why’d you drop out?” Harry asked, making Louis shrug.

“Didn’t like it. Wasn’t doing well. Didn’t see the point,” he said simply. “College is great for a lot of people, but I was wasting my time and my dad’s money. How about you? College graduate?”

“Couldn’t be even if I went. I’m only twenty-one,” Harry said.

“Ah, just barely old enough to even be a bartender,” Louis observed. 

“Yes, but I’ve been mixing drinks since I was about fifteen. Mostly stolen rum and cans of Coke with an unknown but very strong ratio.”

“So you have plenty of years of experience, then!”

Harry laughed. “Thought I’d get a head start.”

He watched Louis as he pulled a piece of pepperoni off, nibbling the edge of it like a squirrel before giving up and putting the whole thing in his mouth. Louis noticed the staring and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you schmoozing me?” Harry asked.

“ _Schmoozing_ you?”

“Yeah, to get me to accept the job offer. Hanging out alone, the free pizza. The funny thing is, I really can’t tell why the hell you’d want to hire me.”

Louis sat back, brushing the crumbs off his hands. He picked up his once-white napkin off the table and wiped his mouth to rid of any sauce or cheese, but it was perfectly clean to begin with. “I’ll tell you why I want to hire you, Harry. It’s pretty simple. I think you’ll do the job. You have the experience and qualifications. You’d be a great fit.”

That couldn’t have been true. All of Harry’s experience was based on lies and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Zayn already made Louis well aware of that. He had nothing special to offer to the job, and it seemed like, frankly, Louis was wasting his time.

“That’s it?” Harry asked.

“Well, you seem friendly and like you’d get along well with everyone. Your availability is great for us to work with…”

Harry nodded along, his eyebrows raised. He didn’t forget what Zayn told him. “You’re desperate to hire someone, aren’t you?”

Instead of agreeing, Louis said, “From the people who applied, you’re the only one who said they can work weeknights and still had experience. It’s hard to train someone who’s never worked in a bar.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never worked in a gay bar. I’m also not gay.”

“You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t want to invade a space not meant for me.”

Louis took a deep breath, giving Harry a sneaking suspicion that he had made a good point. “I need to hire someone by Monday,” he said. “You’re right, we’re desperate. But I happen to know that you are too.”

Harry didn’t say anything. He knew it was stupid to fight back against a job offer, but he had a weird feeling about it in his gut. He didn’t have anything against Club Rose. It seemed like a cool place, and Louis was a pretty decent guy. He could even see them becoming friends at some point, and maybe they still could with Zayn linking their social circles. But taking this job probably wasn’t a smart move.

“Did you enjoy the show?” Harry asked to break the silence that was becoming uncomfortable. He only had his crust left of the pizza, but once he picked off the bits of cheese off it, he was finished.

“Yeah!” Louis nodded, sounding genuine. “Your lead singer is really good. What was her name again?”

“Wren,” Harry said. He was about to mention that she was gay too on instinct, but he decided against it. Louis probably didn’t care, anyway. “She’s super talented,” he mentioned instead. “She only joined last week and she’s probably the best one of any of us.”

“That other guy, Niall I think, was he your singer before?”

Harry nodded as he took a sip of his fountain soda.

“What’s his deal, anyway?” Louis wondered casually.

“Uh,” Harry started, creasing his eyebrows together. “He’s got a girlfriend.”

Louis laughed pretty hard at that, but Harry wasn’t getting the joke. “Not what I meant, man. But now that you mention it, that’s too bad.” He was smiling when he said it and Harry’s cheeks were turning a little red in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I thought—”

“Come on,” Louis said, sliding off his stool and collecting both their plates to throw in the trash on their way out. “We should get back to our friends.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said quickly, looking around to gather his things even though he didn’t bring anything. Just a jacket and an empty wallet. He held the door open again for Louis and was immediately exposed to the rowdy hollers of drunk college kids again. Harry never envied them.

They had to walk a little farther down the road to get back to the bar. Harry pulled his jacket tighter around his torso as a gust of wind flew along the street. He reached in his pocket for his smokes because they tended to give the illusion of warming him up, but there was only one left. This pack was supposed to last a lot longer this time around. Cigarettes get expensive when you go through them so fast. 

Harry thought about the hundred dollars they were going to get from the gig tonight, and how his cut had gone down from thirty-three to twenty-five. And how tonight he was going to be sleeping on a couch one room away from a couple who couldn’t wait for him to leave. He couldn’t even afford to buy a warmer jacket.

“I’ll take the job,” Harry said.

Louis quickly turned his head. “Really?”

“As long as I’m welcome.”

“I don’t think you realize how short-staffed we are.”

“Okay.” Harry took a deep breath, letting it out with a smile. “This’ll be good. I mean, it’s gotta be fun, right?”

“It’s a lot of work, but it is fun. You’ll definitely be making good tips,” Louis said with an obvious wink.

 “I… didn’t even consider that…” Harry’s face went extra red. Louis seemed to be taking a lot of pleasure in fucking with him.

“Can you come in on Monday? If you’re there by seven then I have plenty of time to show you around the place.”

“Seven works,” Harry agreed, reminding himself that seven did not mean seven fifteen. “And thank you,” he added.

“Happy to have you join us,” Louis grinned.

“Oh, I do have one question, though.” Harry slowed his pacing to look Louis in the eye. “What is a drag show, exactly?”

Louis nodded slowly. “Maybe make it six,” he said.


	4. Chapter 4

What were you supposed to wear to a gay bar?

That was the big question as Harry searched through Niall’s closet. His own clothes were mostly oversized or had holes in them, a problem he couldn’t quite fix before his first paycheck. He did have permission, in fact, to be looking through Niall’s clothes. Not so much his girlfriend’s clothes but that was where Harry’s eyes kept drifting. He found a pair of black jeans that were actually clean and hole-free on the men’s side of the closet, but Niall didn’t have much for shirts. Nothing that really caught Harry’s attention, anyway. All of his were boring button-ups for his job, band t-shirts that were definitely not appropriate for work, and all that plaid shit he claimed looked cool on stage. Harry had a few of those shirts too, but only because they were in abundance at the second-hand store.

But there was one shirt on Niall’s girlfriend’s side that looked like it just might work. A short sleeve button up that had this dark purple flower design on it. The buttons had a stripe of white behind them that reached the collar. If he matched it with the black tie that was draped over the door handle (yes, it was there for that reason––Harry sometimes slept with headphones over his ears) he might just be on to something. 

Harry yanked the shirt off its hanger and pulled his bare arms through the sleeves. Typically, he’d wear an undershirt with something like this, but considering this was a women’s medium, he decided not to add anything that would make the shirt any tighter. Standing in front of the mirror, he did up each button up to his collar, tucking the hem into the waistband of his jeans. Surprisingly, the shirt wasn’t even cinched at the waist. No one would have any idea he was wearing women’s clothes. Well, Niall’s girlfriend might’ve when she came home from work and found her shirt missing, but Harry would wash it. He would also tolerate the stink eye he’d likely get next time they happened to cross paths. Thankfully, that wouldn’t happen for a while. Harry’s weeknight schedule meant that he would be leaving home around the same she would be leaving work.

It was nice to know that soon Harry could have a real home. At least, some apartment with roommates that charged too much rent every month. As long as he had his own bedroom, he’d be happy.

Taking the bus made Harry wonder how many paychecks he would need to save up for a car, amongst the other things in his life he needed. He also wondered how many lessons it would take for him to actually learn how to drive that car. When he was growing up, public transportation was always around and took away any need for him to get around to getting a license. Buses and walking had always been his life.

Maybe he could save up for a bike.

Sticking to his word, Harry did show up at five. The last time he was this well-groomed was when he had to go home for Christmas last year and visit his family. Clean shaven, curls tamed, a spray of cologne, and his shirt was even ironed. Mind you, he wasn’t the one who ironed it, but it was ironed, nonetheless. 

Admittedly, Harry was nervous. Not only was this his first day on the job but it was his first day at a job that he had no idea what to expect from. Well, he had a bit of an idea. He knew he was going to be mixing drinks and standing on the opposite side of the counter, but in terms of what a night at a gay bar was like, he had no idea. 

But the thing was, he was kind of eager to find out.

It was an observation thing, definitely. He wasn’t there to be part of anything except the staff, but he was approaching it like watching a movie. You pay attention, see what you learn, enjoy yourself, and figure out what a drag show actually entailed. There weren’t any on weeknights, but he hoped he could at least get an idea.

When Harry arrived, Louis was standing in the same spot he was when he interviewed Harry, this time with a pleasant grin on his face as he waited expectantly. Harry waved as he walked across the empty bar.

“Hey,” he greeted, his nerves already settling.

“Ready for a crash course?” Louis asked as he lifted the counter. Instead of walking out, he waved Harry towards the other side.

No time was being wasted in the few hours they had before opening. As it turned out, a crash course in working in a gay bar mostly just consisted of learning how to use all the equipment and make the few specialty drinks they served at Club Rose. Louis also gave him a quick refresher on some of the simpler drinks and ratios they used in case it was different where he worked last. If all else failed, there was a little cheat sheet under the counter if he ever forgot. Harry would definitely be taking a peek at that.

“We’re a cash bar so you don’t have to worry about dealing with cards and tax is included in the price,” Louis explained as he was showing him the cash drawer. 

“Do I have to do the ma—”

“There’s a calculator right here.” He held it up to show him and Harry breathed a mental sigh of relief. “Prices are all on the cheat sheet as well, but most drinks you’ll be making are the same single or double prices. Shots are a dollar less.”

“Alright,” Harry nodded casually as he looked around, going over a mental checklist in his head. “Is there an apron or something I need to wear.”

Louis looked him up and down quickly, then shook his head. “There’s not really a dress code around here. Just make sure you’re wearing a shirt and pants and shoes that your feet can tolerate for eight hours.”

“Cool,” Harry said.

“Nice shirt, by the way. Fits you well.”

Harry looked down, momentarily forgetting what he was wearing. He pulled at the collar a little awkwardly as he smiled, suddenly feeling self-conscious even though nothing about the comment made it sound anything but sincere. He had decided against the tie, figuring it was too formal and would only get in his way.

With a thoughtful look on his face, Louis took a step closer to him. “May I?” he asked, still looking at the shirt. Louis popped just the top two buttons open and carefully smoothed the fabric over his shoulders, readjusting the collar. “Much better,” he grinned, then turned back around, waving a finger for Harry to follow.

When you’re stressed and in a new place, seeing a familiar face is one of the best feelings. That was why Harry was so thrilled when Zayn showed up to join him behind the bar. Little casual chit-chat could be done when the music was this loud and the number of customers to be served was practically never-ending, but a friendly face and someone to answer questions was nice to have around. Louis also stuck around, but he was the manager meaning he was running around the bar all night. Not that he wouldn’t stop if Harry was desperate for help, but Harry felt bad asking. So he had Zayn.

Club Rose didn’t usually have weeknight shows, so Harry’s shift felt typical to what he was used to. Make drinks and try to limit the small talk so he wouldn’t go home with a sore throat from shouting over the music. Trying to juggle orders and getting used to a new space was stressful, but manageable. At least, manageable enough that the tips made it worth it. 

He wasn’t going to lie, the crowd was different. In some cases clothes were limited, in others they were experimental. Was that the right word? Maybe ‘daring’ was more like it. The energy was higher and the music was, well, not his taste but it got people excited. Harry was still watching from the outside, so he didn’t know what it was like out on the dance floor or squished in one of the booths. From behind the bar, it was just a string of orders.

It was a relief when the last few customers were finally kicked out and the lights came on, meaning it was time to clean up. They closed at two in the morning, but it was closer to three before they finally got everyone out and the chairs on top of the tables. While Louis counted tills in his office, Harry and Zayn were the only ones left wiping counters and putting away clean glasses.

“You did good,” Zayn said as he was stacking pint glasses under the counter. “I’ll be honest, I was surprised you could keep it together so well.”

“Half of that was an insult, but I’ll still take it,” Harry said.

Zayn turned around to check their tip cups on their respective sides. His eyes widened when he got a look at Harry’s.

“That’s pretty good for your first night. You must be good at flirting.”

“Wha— Oh, I didn’t— I just—”

Harry looked up from the counter he was wiping to find Zayn appearing quite amused.

“Relax, I’m teasing. But hey, I’d encourage the flirting. It’s fun.”

“I can’t just flirt with people for tips,” Harry opposed. That felt too manipulative, not to mention he was even sure how to flirt with a guy. It wasn’t something he ever did before, at least not on purpose. Why was he even thinking about this?

Zayn shrugged. “Whatever you did tonight, keep it up.”

Harry dropped his rag back into the bucket of hot soapy water, then slid into the back room to dump it into the sink. Zayn followed him in to put away the dish rack next to the washer. It looked like they were about done with the cleanup, and Harry was more than ready to get home and to bed.

“How are you getting home?” Zayn asked, turning on the sink to rinse his hands.

“Bus,” Harry simply stated.

“It’s three in the morning. Buses aren’t running,” he pointed out.

Harry had completely forgotten about that. The last bar he worked at was only two blocks away, so walking home was never a big deal.

“Then, uh…”

“I can give you a ride. You’re still staying at Niall’s, right? It’s on the way.”

“Are you sure?”

“I drive right by the building. Honestly, it wouldn’t make sense for me not to,” he said, pulling his jacket off one of the hooks on the wall. He handed Harry his as well. “Come on. I’m parked out back.”

On their way out, they stopped outside Louis’ office to say bye. Zayn knocked lightly on the doorframe and Louis glanced up from his desk. The glasses perched on his nose and the pen he was twirling in his hand made him look much older than he did before. Now that Harry thought about it, he wasn’t even sure how old Louis was.

“Heading out?” he asked, pulling off his glasses and leaning back in his chair.

“As long as you’re all good here,” Zayn said.

“Yeah, I’m just finishing up with the cash-out. I’ll lock up in a few minutes.”

“Cool,” Zayn said. “Don’t stay until four. You’ll hate yourself in the morning.”

“Ten minutes, max,” Louis said.

“Mhmm,” Zayn hummed.

“So, Harry, how’d it go?” Louis wondered, tilting his head to look at him.

“Good!” he said quickly. “I think I’m getting the hang of things.”

“Good to hear.” Louis turned back to his desk to finish the last of his paperwork. He looked pretty ready to go home to bed as well. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” he said. Zayn sent him off with a wave.

Harry was going to have to try not to fall asleep in the passenger seat of Zayn’s car. He really wasn’t used to these late nights. Even when he had a gig, most of those nights didn’t go on this long, or require him to do this much running around. He watched the streetlights and passerby, finding calm in the stillness of the night. That was a reason he enjoyed the late walks home. Maybe it was also because the only obligation he had once he got to his destination was to go to sleep.

“You guys have rehearsal tomorrow?” Zayn wondered, probably because he wanted to know how long his sleep-in could go uninterrupted.

“I think around noon,” Harry said. Their rehearsal schedule had gone through a bit of revamping.

“That’s not going to be a fun wake-up.”

“We’ll turn the amps low,” Harry promised.

“I meant for you,” Zayn said. “I don’t know how you’ll function on less than twelve hours of sleep.”

Harry did the math in his head quickly. If he showered really fast in the morning, he might be able to get more than seven hours of sleep.

“Eight hours is normal, right?” he asked, completely serious.

Zayn just shook his head and laughed as he pulled up to the front door of the apartment building. “You might as well hitch a ride again tomorrow if you’ll already be at the house for rehearsal,” he said as he shifted into park.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to think you have to drive me around.”

“Nah, you’re just lucky the drive is convenient.”

“Well, thanks,” Harry said with a smile. He looked out at the building, then back at the dash in front of him. Zayn drove an old white Mazda that you could only tell was white if you scraped off the layer of dirt off. The inside wasn’t much cleaner, but Zayn cared so little that he didn’t even bother apologizing for the to-go cups, empty cigarette packs, and burger wrappers that littered the floor. If Harry had a car, he assumed that his would look the same, so he wasn’t going to complain.

Since Harry wasn’t moving, Zayn gave him a funny look.

“Are you going to go inside? I’d really like to go home before I pass out here.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you, um...” Harry trailed off, thinking over the question a few times.

Zayn raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

“When did you, uh... When did you know you were—” He gestured vaguely in the air until he heard Zayn laughing. Harry turned to see him pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes shut.

“Are you trying to tell me something here? One night at a gay bar and suddenly you’re questioning yourself?”

“No!” Harry said quickly. That really wasn’t what he was getting at. “I was trying to, like, get to know you. We hang out with mutual friends but never alone so I thought-”

“You thought to ask when I realized I was gay was a good conversation starter at—” He looked at the clock on the dash. “—three-twenty-two in the morning after we just worked an eight-hour shift?”

Harry shook his head and reached to open the door. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, I was just– Sorry.”

He opened the door but Zayn stopped him from getting out too fast.

“Hey, I’m not offended, man. Your timing threw me off. It’s fine.”

Harry nodded slowly. “I should go inside. Thanks again for the ride.”

“I was seventeen,” Zayn said as Harry stepped out. “I questioned for a while but I was seventeen when I realized. To answer your question.”

He was standing outside now, but Harry bent down to see him still. “Was it difficult? Figuring it out, I mean,” he asked, not meaning to be vague but also not knowing how to be any more specific. 

“It was freeing,” Zayn smiled, letting the answer hang for a moment. “Have a good night, Harry.”

“You too,” he replied, then swung the door shut. 

Leave it to Harry to not know how to keep his big mouth shut.

Hearing Zayn drive away, Harry walked up the steps to the call box. Before he reached the top he realized that it was almost four in the morning and Niall would be waking up in an hour for a morning shift. He was a parking attendant and had to make it there before rush hour started, which meant the rude awakening would not be welcomed. But Harry also didn’t want to sleep on the stoop, so he pressed the first button.

“I’m not doing this every morning,” Niall’s voice eventually came through the speaker after three tries.

“Then give me a key,” Harry replied, but the door was already buzzing, so he made his way up.

Niall left the inside door unlocked so Harry wouldn’t have to knock on that one too. He didn’t leave a light on, though, so Harry kicked off his shoes and stumbled through the dark until he reached the couch, then let himself fall face-first into his pillow. He didn’t even realize how sore his feet were until he was off them. Before he knew it, he was already asleep.

 

One week in and work had become work. The newbie excitement had quickly worn off and soon Harry was remembering faces and having to look less and less at his cheat sheet. He was definitely no master mixologist, but he was spilling less when he poured shots, so that had to count for something.

While he was also getting to know some of his other coworkers like Rick the doorman and Johnny, another one of the bartenders, Louis was not someone he had exchanged in frequent and casual conversation with. During work hours, Louis was always busy running around between sections of the bar. He’d ask a question and be gone as soon as he got his answer. Even when he hopped behind the counter to help serve drinks, he was quick and efficient.

Although, if Harry was ever to decide to take to flirting for tips, Louis was definitely the person to go to for notes. It takes a special kind of skill to flirt efficiently.

Friday was a day Harry was looking forward to all week. After four days of going to bed at almost four in the morning after work, he could finally sleep all day. Well, almost all day. He slept until he was woken up to the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut. He blinked his eyes open, the blanket pulled just below his nose, to see Niall standing above him.

“We gotta go,” he said. “It’s five. We’ve got rehearsal.”

“Did you piss off the Mrs.?” Harry asked, referring to the door slam as he stretched his arms. He didn’t remember the last time he woke up actually feeling refreshed.

“She does have a name,” Niall said, walking back to the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice from the fridge. Harry noticed his hesitancy to grab a beer instead.

“Yeah, but Mrs. is so much sweeter.”

“We aren’t married.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.” He chugged the juice above the sink then rinsed the glass to leave in it. “Get dressed so we can go.”

“I need to shower.”

“Splash water on your face and put on some deodorant.”

Harry made a quick trip to the washroom to freshen up, then changed into some clean clothes—he was pretty proud of the fact that he got laundry done yesterday, that purple shirt included—before meeting Niall back at the door. He was leaning against the wall and staring into space while he dangled the van keys in his hand. The bedroom door was still closed.

“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Harry asked as he slipped his shoes on.

“Let’s just go,” Niall said, opening the door without another word.

Harry sat with the seat reclined slightly further back than usual, finding comfort in _almost_ laying down while they drove. He put his feet up on the dashboard even though every time he did he had the voice of his mother in the back of his head telling him one wrong move from the driver could break his spine. Niall was a good enough driver that Harry didn’t need to worry. Or so he told himself.

Today, however, he still looked tense. Harry leaned forward, trying to force him into eye contact even though he was paying close attention to the road. The car was eerily silent since neither of them had turned on the radio since they began the short drive.

“What did you guys fight about?” Harry eventually asked.  

“Nothing.”

“I know it’s not nothing. Niall, I’m your best friend. Talk to me.”

When he finally sighed, Harry turned in his seat to give him his full attention.

“I didn’t want to kick you out,” he began. “She said she had enough, I said one week of work doesn’t earn you a security deposit and first month’s rent.”

“I’ll start paying my way. I’ll contribute to bills and buy groceries—”

“It’s not that we can’t afford to have you living with us, but it’s a one-bedroom apartment with one bathroom that three people share. I can’t imagine you like sleeping on the couch, either.”

Harry pulled a knee up to his chest. He felt bad, honestly, for having to freeload for so long, but also grateful he had friends who wouldn’t let him live out on the street. Hustling for money was a lifestyle he didn’t want to have to learn. He had overstayed his welcome long ago, but Niall was right. He couldn’t afford his own place just yet.

“I’ll find somewhere to go. I don’t want to be the reason you’re fighting with your girlfriend and I know I’m just invading your space. The first time you live alone as a couple should be fun, not a hassle because you have some mess of a friend taking over your living room.”

“No rush, man. Seriously. I want you to get back on your feet, not settle for the easiest option,” Niall stressed. He had his eyebrows arched and kept looking at Harry so he’d know he was being genuine.

“I’ll figure it out. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Don’t have to worry? Have you met you?”

That made Harry laugh. He shook his head before taking a look outside the passenger window. They were entering Liam’s neighbourhood now. “I do appreciate how long you’ve let me stay. I owe you big time.”

“Just promise me that once the Mrs. kicks me out on the street, I can crash at your new place for a little while,” Niall said with enough of a smile that Harry knew he was joking. God forbid they ever did break up. He watched Niall go through heartbreak once before when they first met, and that was one Harry was starting to feel himself at the time. At least it got some good angry lyrics out of him. Not “I’ll thank you in my Grammy speech” good, but definitely some quality singing-to-the-steering-wheel material.

“My couch is your couch,” Harry said, and Niall grinned at him.

Harry put on a smile too, but all he could think about was that if he couldn’t get his shit together in the next month, he was fucked.

Since Zayn was out for the evening, the amps were turned to eleven so they could really get the sound out. The distortion echoed with rage and the feedback rang in their ears, but it felt so good to play. Liam did eventually make them turn it down a few notches because he didn’t want the neighbours to call the cops for a noise complaint (again) or for Harry to blow a speaker (again). Amps were expensive, especially when you’re broke.

Later into rehearsal was when they tended to get food, so Niall offered to pick up a pizza and Liam said he’d go along for the drive. Before they headed upstairs, Harry slapped some money into Niall’s hand.

“It’s on me,” he said, knowing the money wouldn’t get rejected. After all the meals he’d eaten on their dime, he should’ve been the only one paying from then on.

That just left Harry and Wren, which was good because they had a section they needed to work out the melody for. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch, each with a guitar in their hands, it quickly turned into a full-on songwriting session.

“Wait, try that again,” Wren said, referring to riff Harry just played. So he did, his fingers moving methodically along the high end of the fretboard.

“That’s really good,” she continued. “What if we lay it over this for the bridge.”

She played a steady rhythm on her guitar as Harry played the loop again. They played it over three times until it felt nice and smooth.

“Yeah, I like that with the high E string.” Harry nodded excitedly. For a band that wanted to make it big, they didn’t have enough writing sessions like this. Most of their rehearsal time was dedicated to learning covers and smoothing out the rough edges of the few original songs they already had.

There were a lot of rough edges.

“Do you write any lyrics?” Wren wondered, biting her pick between her teeth as she reached over the arm of the couch to find her bag.

“Uh, not really,” Harry said. He used to write poems in high school, but nothing worthy of a song. Niall was the real lyricist in the band and Liam wasn’t bad either. Harry just played.

“Well, I have something that might work with this melody if we want to tweak it a bit and- Shit, where is my notebook?” She turned the bag over and shamelessly dumped out it contents between them. Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised at how much stuff could fit in one woman’s bag. Maybe he really should’ve considered one of those.

“You have two wallets?” he asked, picking one up by the corner like it was a pair of dirty underwear.

“Ugh, no. That’s my roommate’s. We went shopping yesterday and she hates carrying a purse. She probably missed that at work.”

Harry dropped the wallet back on the couch as Wren started shoving stuff back into her bag. It fell open in the middle, revealing a picture in the window spot. One look at it made Wren laugh with a shake of her head. She picked it up to show Harry properly.

“That’s her and her boyfriend,” she said. 

“Cute couple,” Harry commented even though the photo was so small he could barely make out either of their faces.

“Yeah, except for the fact that he’s stealing her from me,” she sighed.

“Oh?” Harry said, thinking he was about to hear some pent up confession of love towards this roommate of hers.

“They’re moving in together next month, leaving me alone with an empty second bedroom and twice as many bills. Let me tell ya’, retail does not pay enough to afford rent on a two-bedroom basement suite.”

Oh, if the timing could be any sweeter. Harry’s face practically lit up, but he tried not to immediately get his hopes too high. This was not an offer for him to move in, but it didn’t hurt to ask. Harry cleared his throat as Wren tossed her bag back on the ground, never having found that notebook of hers.

“So you’re looking for a new roommate, then?”

“Why? You know someone?”

“Well, I don’t know if anyone mentioned my living situation to you, but—"

Wren was already shaking her head before Harry could finish. “Yes, you’re living with Niall because you’re broke. No offense, man, but you really don’t seem like the type that can guarantee to have his rent on time.”

“I have a job now,” Harry defended. It had only been a week, but so far felt quite promising.

“Are you really suggesting I let a guy I’ve known for two weeks move into my apartment? That is definitely not long enough to figure out if someone is a murderer.”

“Are you really suggesting that I am capable of inflicting any sort of physical harm? Have you seen how narrow these biceps are?”

He held one up and was actually slightly impressed with himself that there was a bit of definition there, but then dropped it immediately out of embarrassment. He absolutely could not have her thinking he was trying to show off _that_ amount of muscle.

“I could probably kick your ass if I had to,” she reasoned to herself.

“I can promise no ass kicking will be necessary, though I do agree with you,” he said. 

Wren laughed at that. Her laughs were rare when genuine. 

Just then, they heard the front door open along with the loud chatter of three people instead of two. Zayn must’ve gotten home at the same time as Niall and Liam. That was their signal to go upstairs because no one wanted to get greasy pizza hands on their instruments. Harry and Wren set their guitars down against the couch.

“After you,” Harry said, letting her pass in front of him as they made their way toward the stairs. 

She stopped before climbing up the first step.

“Let me think about the roommate thing, okay?” she said. “I still have a month before she moves. Who knows if I’ll even stay in that place.”

Harry nodded, smiling sincerely. “Just let me know,” he said.

Honestly, he wouldn’t blame her for saying no. But this time, he had a little hope that his life might be headed somewhere great for once.


	5. Chapter 5

It was two weeks before the first time Harry was late for his shift, which was honestly pretty impressive for his standards. He was only twenty minutes late, which wasn’t even half of the set-up time before Club Rose opened its doors for the evening, but it was still late enough that his absence would be noticed. When Harry arrived, he tried to sneak in through the back door from the alley where they took the garbage out every night. Since it was locked, he hoped Zayn would answer when he knocked lightly.

Instead, it was Louis’ smiling face on the other side of the door.

“Glad you could make it,” he said, stepping out of the way for Harry to enter. “Did you get lost on the way over again?”

Harry walked in sheepishly, quickly shedding his jacket so he could punch in. He already knew his face had gone red as soon as he saw Louis, but he tried not to make his embarrassment too obvious.

“Look, I’m really sorry, um, sir. My friends who I live with asked me to pick up some groceries from the store and then the bus was late because of the snow and-”

“Did you just call me ‘sir’?” Louis said, tilting his head to the side and squinting one eye as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Uh…”

This was not helping Harry’s embarrassment. Professionalism was his default when he had to explain himself to his boss, which was a common occurrence. But how professional can you be with someone who asked you to accept a job offer while you were drunk together at a greasy pizza joint?

“You know I’m only two years older than you, right?”

“Right, I just thought—”

“I don’t think anyone has ever called me ‘sir’ before. Unless you count the cashier at the corner store by my apartment, but he’s just being polite.”

“Wouldn’t you call your boss ‘sir’?” Harry countered.

“I’d call my grandpa ‘sir’, but he was in the second world war.”

Harry nodded in thought. “I call my dad sir, but he’s a priest, so he’s pretty formal.”

Louis laughed at that, biting the inside of his lips together. “Well then,” he said, turning away. “You better get to work, son.”

Harry’s cheeks flared. He just made this a thousand times worse than it needed to be.

At least he didn’t get in trouble for being late.

Harry followed him to the bar, hoping they could have whatever interaction just happened in the back room stay in the back room. Standing over the till, Louis was counting out the float for the night. A quick glance around showed no fellow bartenders in sight.

“Where’s Zayn?” Harry asked.

Louis finished counting out a stack of ones before he looked up. “Called in sick,” he said. “That’s why I was worried you wouldn’t show up. I’m covering for him, so it looks like you and I will be splitting bar duties tonight.”

“Oh, cool,” Harry nodded, even though his palms had instantly gotten clammy. Nothing stresses you out on a new job quite like having your boss looking over your shoulder to make sure you’re doing everything right. Louis wasn’t a micromanager, but he definitely had eyes on the back of his head. He wasn’t missing anything.

“It shouldn’t be too bad,” Louis shrugged. “You know how quiet Monday nights can be.”

By quiet, he meant that they got maybe half of the customers as, say, a Thursday, the busiest night of Harry’s weekday shifts. It was no piano bar, though. The place would have to be empty before that music got turned down.

Harry wasn’t sure he’d call tonight quiet. It wasn’t a constant rush of people, but something about working with Louis just piled on the nerves. Louis’ feet were always moving when he worked, hands flying across the counter, even if it was just to wipe it down. Every quip was quick and witty; he barely left time for himself to laugh before he was on to the next thing. Harry didn’t have to be as fast as he was, mostly because keeping up was turning into quite the struggle. But customers were satisfied and drinks were being made with lightning speed. The only person dissatisfied was Harry because he was tired and his feet were starting to hurt. 

When his line finished, Harry leaned over the bar to collect the empty glasses left behind and load them up in the dishwasher. He then pulled the rag off his shoulder and got to work on wiping down spills. He must’ve missed a shot glass from earlier, because one swipe sent it flying towards the ground, without even thinking, he swooped his hand down and caught it before it fell.

“Quick hands you got there.”

Harry looked up to see a man sitting near the end of the bar, peering over his glass. He was dressed far too nice to be out alone. Suit jacket on but no tie, top two buttons undone, like how Harry wore his work shirts. The man smiled at him once he got Harry’s attention.

“Gotta have good reflexes to work a job like this,” Harry said modestly.

The man chuckled to himself as he stood up, moving to the stool closer to where Harry was standing. “I bet,” he said before taking another sip of his drink. Harry was pretty sure he tagged on a wink as well. “What’s your name? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Harry,” he said, offering out a kind hand to shake. “And you?”

He accepted his hand graciously. “Marcus. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Harry replied. “But you must only come on weekends if you haven’t seen me. This is my third week here.”

“I guess I don’t come often enough.” He tilted his head with that same smile. “I’ll have to make sure I end more of my Monday nights here, I think.”

Harry might not have considered himself the most quick-witted guy around, but he was smart enough to know what was happening here was definitely flirting. Or an attempt at it, at least. As much as he promised himself he wouldn’t lead anyone on for tips, which still wasn’t what this was, he wasn’t exactly sure how to get himself out of this situation.

So he tried to sound natural.

“Well, we have a great drink special on Monday. A whiskey man like yourself wouldn’t want to miss it.” Harry nodded at the Old Fashioned he was drinking. “I thought only lawyers and mobsters drank those.”

“And guys who go out alone on a Monday, I guess.”

“Whoever made this menu must’ve done their research. Thursday’s special is tequila shots for all those nineteen-year-olds who think their fakes will bring them better luck on a weeknight.”

“You’re funny,” Marcus said with a chuckle.

“You’d be surprised at how little I hear that,” Harry told him, making Marcus laugh again. He had to admit, he was enjoying this back and forth.

“Line!” Harry heard Louis call out from the other side of the bar. That was his cue to get back to work. Louis did not like customers to wait if they didn’t have to.

“Duty calls,” he said to Marcus in an apologetic voice.

“By all means.”

What a nice guy, Harry thought simply as he left to take an order. The first one was for four shots of rum, so he turned to the back wall to find the right bottle. He met Louis there, who gave him an eyebrow-raised smile as he was putting back a bottle of Smirnoff. Harry offered a confused look in return, but the interaction was too quick for any words to be exchanged. He had more orders to get to, anyway.

At the end of the night, bar cleanup was mostly up to Harry since Louis had to count cash and stock and whatever other manager duties that Harry had never asked about. Since he already knew that would happen, Harry made an extra effort to clean as he went, which meant all that was left with was emptying the last load of clean glasses and mopping the floor once he got the chairs on top of their tables. When he was finished, he swiped his tip cup from the back room so he could exchange his coins and ones for bigger bills in Louis’ office.

“Here to square up?” Louis asked when he heard a knock on his door. The phrase confused Harry the first time he heard it because it sounded like they were about to get in a playground tussle, but he got used to it after hearing Louis say the same thing every night.

Harry sat at the small table in the corner and dumped out the cup of change over it, careful not to send any coins flying. The first thing his eye spotted was a delicately folded napkin amongst the crumpled ones and fives. Louis noticed him reaching for it.

“I assumed that was meant for you,” he said as Harry unfolded it. Written on the napkin was Marcus’ name, followed by a phone number directly underneath. Harry’s felt his cheeks heat up. He was starting to think they had a legitimate problem that required a visit to the doctor.

“I wouldn’t call him, if I were you,” Louis continued. “Marcus used to have a thing going with Zayn a few months back and it did not end well.”

“Why would I call him? Obviously I’m not interested,” Harry quickly said, crumpling the napkin into a ball and tossing it into the wastebasket next to him.

“Relax, Casanova. I didn’t mean anything by it,” Louis said, holding back his laugh because Harry was not amused. He just sat there, counting his quarters. 

“Five dollars,” he said, sliding the coins into his hands to drop on Louis’ desk.

Louis pulled a five out of his tray to complete the transaction. “I’m surprised it took this long for someone to leave their phone number. Zayn gets one every other night.”

“Well, Zayn knows how to dress,” Harry said. He got to work on the ones now.

“You do too. Black button-ups are nice, but mix a few colours in there and you could really be headed somewhere. Like that shirt with the purple flowers you wore your first night.”

Harry found himself considering it until he realized what he was actually doing. The point wasn’t to be flirted with. He didn’t need to be getting phone numbers every other night, and he really didn’t want to waste any of these guys’ time. This was his job. He was here to work and that’s it.

“Twenty,” Harry said, handing the stack over. Louis recounted quickly to make sure he was right and then handed him a bill.

“How are you getting home tonight?” Louis wondered, and it only clued into Harry then that his usual ride home had called in sick tonight.

“Cab, I guess.” That was pretty much his only choice since buses stopped running hours ago.

“I can give you a ride. I’m nearly finished here, anyway,” Louis said, counting Harry’s next stack of bills. He didn’t do too bad in tips for a Monday.

“You don’t have to,” Harry told him.

“The extra ten minutes of driving won't kill me. You live by Zayn, right?”

“Not too far.”

Louis began clearing his desk and putting the rest of the money in the safe. “Grab your jacket, then. I’ll meet you at the front door.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind—”

Louis stopped to give him a look.

“Grabbing my jacket,” Harry took his empty cup with him as he left the room.

Louis drove a little two-door blue Camaro which looked very 80s and almost too nice for a 23-year-old to be driving. He kept it quite clean both inside and out, the floor even looking recently vacuumed and the mats washed. From the mirror hung an air freshener shaped like a Mickey Mouse glove giving the middle finger. Harry laughed, poking at it to make it swing. “Nice,” he said.

“Comes in handy when drivers piss me off,” Louis remarked. He pulled out of the curb and continued down the quiet back road.

When Harry told him the address, Louis claimed to know exactly where it was and that it wasn’t too out of the way for him at all. This was much to Harry’s relief, who still felt like he was inconveniencing him in some way. Louis turned the radio on quiet to a soft rock station as they drove, humming along to the melody.

“I thought you weren’t very into music,” Harry pointed out, remembering again that he never got a full explanation on why that was, exactly.

“ _Live_ music,” Louis clarified. “I’m just not big on going to shows.”

Harry knew there had to be more to the story there, but he decided not to push it further.

“I was wondering…” Harry said, changing the subject. “How did you get a job managing a bar at twenty-three? I mean, you’re good at it, but doesn’t that seem a bit young?”

“I’ll be twenty-four at the end of the month,” Louis said.

“But you’re twenty-three now.”

“I was twenty-two when I got the job.”

Now Harry was really confused. He turned in his seat, but Louis just kept his unbothered stare on the road ahead of them. “How’d you get it at twenty-two, then?”

Louis just shrugged. “It’s a boring story, honestly. I’d been working the bar since I just turned twenty-one and a year later I was one of the few who bothered to stick around under the old manager. He was a real asshole and the turnover was crazy at the time, but I needed the money so I muddled through. One night he got into a fight with the owner and walked out on the job, so the owner asked me to step in for the time being since I was the most senior employee. Almost a year later and he never hired anyone else and started paying me more, so I just went with it.”

“That’s a pretty good gig,” Harry commented. “What are you planning on doing after?”

Louis shifted in his seat. “For now, it’s just this,” he said.

It got quiet for a moment because Harry was never really sure what to say to Louis. They got along well enough, but they also seemed so different and there was something about Louis he couldn’t quite figure out. Like how he could never guess what he was about to say, and how everything about his life seemed so perfectly structured. Harry was used to chaos, and a routine was never something he became familiar with.

“Did you grow up here?” Louis asked, interrupting Harry’s brief divergence of thought.

“No, I only moved here about two years ago. I grew up just outside Salt Lake City.”

“Really?” Louis raised his eyebrows in surprise. It couldn’t be that surprising. Utah was only two states over.

“Yep. Boring little town where everyone knew everyone.”

“Is it as religious as everyone claims it is?”

Harry nodded. “Grew up in the Mormon Church.”

“No shit?” Louis said. “You don’t seem like it.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of that. My dad is the high priest in his church and please don’t ask me to explain what that is because I’ve never really been sure. My whole family are devouts and I left home before I could be forced into missionary duties.”

“You’re going to have to at least explain that one before my mind goes elsewhere.”

“You know the people who go door-to-door?”

“Gotcha. So what did pops think about you leaving to go to Seattle and play the Devil’s music?”

“Oh, man. What a day that was,” Harry mused at the thought. It wasn’t a raw memory or anything. He was on well-enough terms with his family now, but that day he was sure he was going to be banished from home for life. “You don’t know how many lies I planned out before deciding to just up and leave on a bus one day. Best decision I’ve ever made, honestly. And I still visit for Christmas, so everyone wins.”

“So, growing up...” Louis said, scratching at his neck as he did so. “What kind of beliefs were you taught, exactly? I’m sure there was a lot about adultery, sexuality, and all that.”

“Are you asking if I think being gay is a sin?” Harry said it like the belief was ridiculous, but Louis’ shrugged response indicated that that was exactly what he was asking. “I was _taught_ to believe that, yeah. That those were just “thoughts and feelings” that you were supposed to get rid of. I had a friend who went to counseling for it.”

“And how’d that turn out for your friend?”

“She got married to her husband last summer.”

The air felt heavy after that. A beat of silence passed.

“And what do you think about all that?” Louis wondered.

“She said that was what she wanted. And she could be bisexual, right? When you like guys and girls?” That was something Harry hadn’t really put too much thought into before.” I don’t know… It’s not like a sickness you can cure. That’s just the way people are. Why should it be anyone else’s business who you’re attracted to?”

“It’s not,” Louis agreed, even though to him that notion must’ve been obvious. “That’s all bullshit.”

“Yeah. That’s how I was raised, but there are a lot of things about the church in general that I don’t agree with. Not when it comes from hate. I’d never claim to be part of it, but not just them. Organized religion, in general, is just...” he trailed off, shaking his head.

“Do you believe in God?”

Harry turned to look at him, narrowing his eyes. “This conversation is getting quite deep for a three a.m. ride home from work.”

Louis laughed. “What else do you talk about at three a.m.?”

When Louis pulled up to the side of Niall’s apartment building, Harry didn’t hesitate to get out of the car. He had learned his lesson when it came to the awkward parked car chats. Like Louis said, what else do you talk about at three a.m.? Nothing came to mind that wouldn’t end it uncomfortable or confusing results.

So Harry thanked him, then marched toward the front door. Sticking his hand in his pocket, he fished around for his keys. He actually got to use the spare keys this week since Niall and his girlfriend were out of town. They were visiting his parents for an early Christmas so they could spend this year with her family. That gave Harry a few days with the place to himself before he had to head back to Utah for his yearly obligation.

But there were no keys in his pocket, or any of his pockets, and was starting to wonder if he was going to be able to go home tonight at all.

Harry searched every pocket to no avail. Headlights lit up the street, so he turned to see that Louis was still waiting there, probably to make sure Harry got in safely. That was likely not happening. Not until the landlord woke up in the morning, that is. He pictured his keys likely sitting on the counter where Niall put them this morning before they left, him reminding Harry not to forget them because he already knew this would happen. Harry couldn’t tell him about it, of course. He’d never hear the end of it if he did.

“Everything okay?” Louis yelled out the passenger window.

“I uh— I forgot my key,” Harry called back.

“Your roommates aren’t home?”

“Out of town.”

“Get in, then.”

Harry walked back to the car so they didn’t have to shout. “It’s okay. I can wait out a few hours,” he said.

Louis scoffed. “You’re kidding, right? You expect me to leave you alone out here all night? I’m bringing you back to my place to crash on the couch.”

“I don’t want to be a burden…”

“Get in before I yank you through that window.”

Despite the words coming out of his mouth, his tone remained friendly. That must’ve been how he got through life not seeming like an asshole even though he had the assertion of one. Harry opened the passenger door.

Louis lived in a much nicer apartment building than Harry expected. The kind with underground parking, more than five floors, and an actual lobby. He didn’t know why he expected Louis to live in a dive. Maybe it was because he mentioned that he lived alone—not even with a roommate—and he was twenty-three. What twenty-three-year-old working in a bar can afford a nice apartment all by himself?

They took the elevator up to the tenth floor and Harry followed Louis to his apartment door. He unlocked it and flicked the light on. Almost immediately, a large white-and-orange-spotted cat appeared from down the hall. Since Louis was occupied with leaving his keys and jacket on the island, the cat chose to rub up against Harry’s legs for attention.

“Hello, there, beautiful,” Harry said, kneeling down to give the cat a few pets.

“Her name is Deja,” Louis told him. “She’s a little shit.”

“But she’s so precious,” he said in a baby voice, rubbing her cheeks in his hands.

“Oh, she’s definitely the sweetest cat I’ve ever met. She just also happens to be a little shit.”

Harry was sat on the ground now, letting Deja crawl over his lap as he scratched behind her ears. She was soaking up every bit of attention he was giving her. In his brightly lit, white cabinet covered kitchen, Louis opened the fridge and pulled out a half-empty bottle of wine.

“Want a drink?” he asked, already setting two stemless glasses out on the counter. “I usually have one when I get home after work.”

“Sure,” Harry said. He wasn’t the biggest fan of wine, but he couldn’t let him drink alone.

Louis divided the rest of the bottle and brought them out to the living room. That’s when Harry really got a chance to look at the place. The whole thing was spotless. Everything was impeccably clean and well-decorated. He had a glass coffee table and hardwood floors with those furry carpets that you see in movies with rich people living in penthouse suites. A big-screen TV with speakers that acted as the stand next to a collection of tapes and a stereo system. Potted plants sat at almost every corner and the whole place smelled like flowers. Harry didn’t know how one person could be this put together.

“I’ve heard from friends that this couch is pretty comfortable unless you’d rather share Deja’s bed with her,” Louis said as he sat on the couch with his wine, leaving the other glass on a coaster for Harry, who realized then that he should probably get up off the floor.

“The couch is fine,” Harry said and he stood up, acknowledging the joke with a slight smile. “Thanks.” 

He picked up the glass and took a small sip. It was white wine, so the flavour was almost like juice. This, he could definitely tolerate.

Deja jumped up onto Louis’ lap and rubbed her head up against his arm. He petted her until she eventually laid down, her head resting on his knee.

“So is this your routine?” Harry asked. “Come home, drink wine, and hang out with your cat in your fancy apartment?”

“Pretty much,” Louis shrugged. “Been a while since I brought home a guy with me, though.” He laughed so Harry would know he was kidding, but Harry was more interested in the first half of that statement.

“How long?”

Louis gave him an odd look. “Are you asking me how long it’s been since the last time I brought a guy home?”

Harry nodded. If he didn’t have roommates that helped him afford a place like this, maybe it was a boyfriend that Louis hadn’t been completely forward about.

“I don’t know, a couple of months ago. I’m kind of over that part of my life, I guess. Partying and one night stands. What about you?”

That answer wasn’t exactly clear, but Harry went along with the conversation anyway.

“I tried it a couple times when the band first started out. Not planning on doing it again.”

“Ah, so you’re the monogamous type.”

Harry laughed. “Not sure I would say that. Haven’t really dated much.”

Louis seemed confused. “So you don’t date, but you also don’t sleep with strangers?”

“What can I say? I’m a prude.”

“Nothing wrong with that. You put on quite the image to be a prude, though. You’ve got that whole wannabe-rockstar thing going on.” Louis looked him up and down despite the fact that Harry was in work clothes that definitely did not match his personality.

“Speaking of wannabe-rockstars,” Harry said, standing up to follow his gaze toward the wall opposite him. “Do those crates hold your record collection?”

“They do,” Louis said, his eyes following him, looking over his shoulder as Harry crouched down to browse. Harry wouldn’t hesitate to admit that half of the reason he pointed it out was so they didn’t have to talk about sex anymore—his least favourite subject. He supposed it was his fault for bringing it up, but he couldn’t help being nosey.

“Feel free,” Louis offered even though Harry was already flipping through them. Louis got up to join him, taking his wine with him. It had been quite some time since he took a look at all those albums.

“If I didn’t know you better, I might assume that you actually do _do_ music,” Harry observed playfully.

“You got me,” Louis said as folded his legs together, placing his glass in the middle of them. “Don’t look in the entertainment centre. You’ll see my CD collection of shame.”

“You’ve got interesting taste,” Harry said, ignoring the sarcasm as he pulled out a few sleeves. 

Most of the albums were from the 70s and early 80s. The kind of music Harry would listen to at his friends' houses or in headphones at the record store because his parents would never allow it in the house when he was a teenager. If they ever found a Led Zeppelin record under his bed they’d probably organize the next version of the Beatles album burning. If you asked Harry, John Lennon was right, for the record. The Beatles were more popular than Jesus.

“My dad bought them for me when I was a little kid. They’re his taste more than mine. The CDs are actually what I listen to. I don’t think anyone listens to records anymore, for that matter. These are just for show.”

“Ah, so you want the image of a classic rock fan as someone who actually listens to…?”

“Just whatever’s popular, I guess. I have a few of those compilation albums.”

Harry laughed, shaking in disapproval his head as he leaned back against the wall. Louis switched into defensive mode with a scoff. “Oh, now you’re going to judge _my_ music? Sorry I don’t exclusively listen to Nirvana and Pearl Jam.”

“Hey, you listen to Nirvana _or_ Pearl Jam. Not both.”

“Give me a break,” he laughed, which made Harry laugh too.

“You’re right, anyway,” Harry told him. “My music taste is garbage, for the most part. But you can’t go wrong with Pink Floyd.” He pulled _The Wall_ from its sleeve and stood to place it on the turntable. Louis wasn’t lying about not listening to the records. Despite how clean his apartment was, there was still a thin layer of dust over the clear lid.

“It’s almost four in the morning,” Louis said.

“We’ll listen quietly.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

Harry shrugged. It had been a while since he decided to just sit back and listen to an album. For someone who claimed to be a musician, he wasn’t as well-versed in music literature as he probably should’ve been.

“I used to listen to this in high school,” Louis said when Harry returned to his spot on the floor. He almost forgot he had a drink to finish. “It was the kind of thing we’d play while hot-boxing a friend’s car or something. It was the only time I ever really listened to music.”

“We had very different teenage years,” Harry said. “I thought I was a badass for the music I listened to. I never did anything like that.”

“Did you wait until you were twenty-one to have your first drink too?”

Harry smiled. “Fifteen, remember?” he said. “You gotta give me a little credit for that one.”

“Ah yes, your wild youthful bartending days. Is that all? Just what every high school kid did at a weekend party?”

“Does picking up smoking since I moved here add any points? That was considered badass in high school.”

Louis curled his nose up. “No, smoking is just gross.”

“Hey, I’m quitting!” _He really should get on that..._ “Seattle changed me, I guess. My parents would be aghast to learn about my coffee addiction,” Harry said in a mocking tone even though he was only half kidding.

Louis left a pause before continuing, listening to the music and letting the humour fade. “It must’ve been a bit of a culture shock going from a conservative small town to joining the underground music scene in a big city.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded easily. “But I loved it. I stayed with my cousin for the first little while, but she had a family in the suburbs, so I found a job an apartment with a bunch of roommates as soon as I could. Then I formed the band and stopped showing up at work, so then there went the job and the apartment. I was lucky Niall’s such a great friend.”

“So music is always what you wanted to do?”

“I mean, yeah. What about you? What did you always want to do?”

“Good fucking question,” Louis sighed, and they left it at that.

By the time the A-side was done neither of them could keep their eyes open, so Louis found a blanket and some pillows for Harry in the linen closet before heading to his room for the night. Harry slept like a baby, quite honestly. He was used to sleeping on couches, but never ones this comfortable.


	6. Chapter 6

Niall never did find out that Harry locked himself out. Not even from the landlord, who would’ve had to let Harry in if it wasn’t for the fact that someone was unlocking the main door for himself just as Louis dropped him off in the early afternoon the next day. Since he didn’t bring his keys, to begin with, the apartment door never got locked and he was able to let himself right in. Thankfully, the place was left untouched. Not that there was anything of value to steal in the apartment. The TV was still on its stand, so Harry took his stroke of luck as a win.

Louis offered to give him a ride to work that evening too, but Harry felt bad about accepting too many favours. Zayn wouldn’t be giving him a ride either since they weren’t going to be there to rehearse without Niall. Taking the bus it was, and that was perfectly alright with him.

Harry took the bus the rest of the week, which was fine because Zayn still had no problem driving him home. He offered to pick him up as well, but Harry said no. Honestly, the fact that he didn’t have a license of his own was pretty ridiculous. He was almost twenty-two and the only one of his friends who couldn’t drive. Maybe Liam could teach him. He did drive for a living, after all.

Throughout the rest of the week, Harry was surprised to not have seen Marcus again, the guy who left his number on a napkin. Not that he was particularly hoping for that awkward face-to-face encounter over why he never called, but he really didn’t mind Marcus’ company. He seemed to be a nice guy, and he had on this cool jacket that Harry really should’ve asked about because getting one like it would replace that oversized, overworn military jacket he’d been wearing. If he could pull it off as well as Marcus could, that is.

So much for that friendship, he supposed.

There was one new upside to this week though, and that was getting his first paycheck. Harry started halfway through the pay period, so there was a whole three weeks of pay in that envelope he picked up from Louis’ office. “Don’t spend it all at once,” Louis warned as if this was Harry’s first job and he was eyeing a pearly red Stratocaster that had a price tag in the quadruple digits.

It was a Telecaster, actually, and it would take a couple more paychecks before he’d be able to buy it and still have change to spare.

Niall was back by Sunday, which meant the band could meet up one more time before giving themselves a lightly-deserved Christmas break off of rehearsals. Harry walked in the house first, trying not to bump his guitar case on the door frame like he did almost every other time he walked in this house. It wasn’t his fault the entryway was so small. Niall followed in after and they could already hear loud conversation and laughing coming from the basement. Before heading down there, Niall made his way to the fridge in search of a six pack that he knew would be there, and tucked it under his arm. Considering this was their first rehearsal in a week and they wouldn’t be having another for almost two more, it was implied that very little productivity would be happening tonight. More than anything, rehearsal was just an excuse to hang out, drink, and jam to their hearts’ content.

“Good, you’re here,” Liam said before Harry and Niall even reached the couch where the other fifty percent of the band–and Zayn–were hanging out. “We need you to settle a debate.”

“We just finished watching  _ Reservoir Dogs  _ and Liam has no idea what he’s talking about,” Wren said, brushing him off completely as she sank lower in the couch. Zayn was sat on the carpet with a bag of Cheetos in his lap, only partly invested in the conversation.

“She thinks Mr. Pink got arrested at the end. With those tires squealing right before the police showed up, there’s no way he didn’t get away with the briefcase,” Liam argued.

“Yeah the  _ police  _ showed up,” Wren stressed. “Literally seconds after you hear the car. You don’t think they wouldn’t have chased him if they couldn’t stop the car?”

Zayn looked up at Harry and Niall with a painful smile. “I wanted to rent  _ Wayne’s World,” _ he said quietly.

“So who’s right?” Liam asked. “Did Mr. Pink get away or not?”

“I never saw the movie,” Harry shrugged, putting down his guitar and collapsing in the spot between Wren and Liam.

 Liam turned to Niall as he was being tossed a drink. Having two left over from that six pack—Wren didn’t drink, of course—meant whoever was picking up the food was going to have to add a beer run to the trip. “Niall, who do you think is right?” he asked.

“Zayn. You should’ve rented  _ Wayne’s World _ .”

“You’re both useless,” Liam huffed. 

Wren just laughed. “You know I’m right. You’re just too far into your argument to admit it.”

“Eat it,” he replied bitterly as he cracked open his can. Liam never was good at being wrong.

“So is that all you guys did today? Watched movies and argued?” Niall asked, perching himself on top of an amp with his own drink.

“Yeah, and waited for you guys so we could order food. We’re starving,” Zayn said. He stuck his hand in the bag for another Cheeto.

“Well, what do you guys want? Chinese? Pizza? Chicken?”

“Chinese,” Liam said. 

When Wren leaned forward to speak, the others held their breath for another argument.

“If one of you calls, I don’t mind picking it up,” she volunteered instead. “Harry, do you want to keep me company?”

“Uh, sure,” Harry said. He’d go along with pretty much anything.

Since Wren didn’t drive to rehearsal herself, instead having gotten a ride from Liam, they took the van that was supposed to be shared but Niall pretty much claimed as his own. Considering they purchased it as a three-piece, Liam had a car of his own, and Harry didn’t drive, it sort of made sense. But during band practice, everyone got van privileges, and Wren actually had a license.

“I had something to ask you, but I didn’t want to ask in front of Niall,” Wren began as they started down the neighbourhood street. “That’s why I wanted you to come.”

“And here I was thinking you just enjoyed my company,” he teased, making her roll her eyes.

“Well, I have to if we’re going to be roommates.”

Harry’s face lit up. “Yeah? You’d be cool with that?”

“As long as you can make rent. My heart isn’t as soft as Niall’s.”

“I can make rent,” he promised. 

“My current roommate is moving out over the holidays. Technically, she has the room until the thirty-first, but on the first, it’s all yours. She left behind all her bedroom furniture since her boyfriend had all of that already. You can get your own if you want, but given your current living situation…”

“I will accept anything that is free,” Harry affirmed with a single nod.

“Do you want to, like, see the place before you say yes, or…?”

“You said it’s nice, right?”

“For what the rent costs, I’d say so.”

Harry was also desperate and this was a very simple solution to his problems, so he wasn’t about to turn her down.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “You’re really helping me out, here.”

Wren smiled at him. “Hey, you’re helping me out too.”

Harry was also thankful she wanted to have this conversation in private. If Niall overheard it, he’d be negotiating how to get Harry moved out by tomorrow. But two weeks would have to do, and Harry was kind of excited about it. It had been almost two years since he had a whole bedroom to himself. One that would just be his own space that he could organize however he wanted. After seeing the way Louis had decorated his apartment, maybe  Harry would have to ask him about some decorating tips next time they saw each other at work.

 

Harry’s obligatory bus ride home was long. Home, meaning Utah, bus, meaning a smelly, overcrowded Greyhound, and long meaning two days. Overall, not a particularly exciting trip. He’d get there in the afternoon on Christmas Eve and spend the next few days in church listening to gospel and pretending to sing along to hymns. He really should’ve considered auditioning for the church’s holiday plays because these visits were turning him into quite the actor.

The truth was, Harry didn’t hate going home for the holidays. In fact, the parts he loved actually outweighed everything he dreaded. Cooking dinner with his mom had been a tradition since he was old enough to push a stepstool up against the counter and mash the potatoes. With his dad, they liked watching cartoon Christmas specials on TV even though they didn’t fully cohere with the family’s religious beliefs. To Harry’s dad, that was his own tiny act of rebellion. And of course, there was his eight-year-old sister, Josephine. That was what their parents called her, but she liked when Harry called her Josie. She had begged her big brother over the phone to take her sledding, bake cookies with her, and all those other Christmas-y things that Harry usually opted out of. But how could he say no to her?

In contrast to their current relationship, Harry hated Josie when she was born. He was fourteen at the time and in the midst of his phase of hating the world and anyone who looked at him funny. From the start, he knew he had been a difficult child. He wasn’t mean or terrible to be around, per se; his parents just never could get him to behave. So, in Harry’s mind, Josie was his replacement. Your first kid looking like he might turn into a fuck-up? No sweat! Plenty more future-babies where that one came from!

Of course, his parents assured him again and again that that wasn’t the case. That he was foolish to think they’d be that cruel to begin with. They’d always wanted a second child, it just took a while to get pregnant again. But at eight years old, Josie was already turning out to be the perfect kid. Polite, smart, outgoing, beloved by the whole town. Take Harry out of the picture and they belonged on a billboard for middle-America.

By now, Harry didn’t care about any of that, and he loved his little sister to bits. She was going to turn out to be everything a parent could want their child to be, and it made Harry feel a little less guilty about where he was in his life compared to where he thought he should’ve been.

Harry arrived at home just in time for dinner. His dad had picked him up from the bus station and helped him carry his bags inside. His bags being one for clothes and the case that held his guitar. You couldn’t expect him to go a whole week without playing.

The house Harry grew up in wasn’t huge, but it was what every other house in suburbia looked like. Long driveway with a station wagon sitting on it and a town car in the garage. The house was two stories and he had his own bedroom that was, surprisingly, still intact, sans a few posters that his parents found particularly offensive. For the first fourteen years of his life, Harry even had his own bathroom that he didn’t have to share with anyone. Those were the kinds of things he missed about home. That, and his mother’s cooking.

Christmas dinner was the usual turkey, stuffing, potatoes carrots–the works. Christmas Eve dinner was lasagna, which happened to cater to Harry’s two favourite food groups: carbs and cheese. Every year they had it, with plenty of mozzarella and marinara. His mom only made a small one, enough for 4 heaping servings because the leftovers would go untouched once the fridge was full of side dishes and half a bird. That was just tradition. Lasagna for dinner, and then presents. For Josie, Harry’s dad had already told him she was getting a Super Nintendo, so that would be Harry and Josie’s plans for the rest of the week. He didn’t stand a chance against her in  _ Super Mario _ .

On the long side of the table, Harry sat across from Josie while she made a small mountain of parmesan on top of the bigger mountain of noodles on her plate.

“Mind saving some for me?” he asked, so Josie sheepishly handed over the container.

“If there’s any left when you’re done, I’ll just take the rest,” she said. Harry glanced up at her and breathed a laugh.

“So,” his dad began in a tone you’d expect from an interrogation, “what have you been up to since we last spoke? Working yet?”

Harry called home once every couple of weeks, but he talked to Josie more often when she called him. He always kept details vague and tended to ask more questions about what was happening back in their small town. When he spoke to his mom, the neighbourhood gossip was aplenty. But for visits, he had to plan out his lies in advance. As if he could tell them he was a bartender, and at a gay bar no less.

“I got a job as a server,” he said, not missing a beat.

“Oh, that’s great, sweetheart,” his mom said. “Where at?”

Apparently, he had not planned that much in detail.

“It’s this small Italian restaurant called, uh…” He took another quick look at his sister’s plate. “Parmesan Palace,” he said. “It’s great. Everyone who works there is really nice and I make decent tips.”

“Are you still living in that tiny apartment?” his dad asked, referring to the studio Harry hadn’t lived in for a year. He never mentioned his financial situation to them. Not that they wouldn’t help him out if he asked. He just knew that if they did, they’d start asking more questions, and he did not want to be indebted to his parents.

“I moved to a bigger place. With a roommate,” he said. He was moving in just over a week, but it was easier to stretch the truth than explain his previous sleeping situation that was Niall’s couch.

“Good,” his dad nodded. “You have a job, a place to live, what’s next?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, are you going to go to school, join a trade, what is it?”

Harry sighed. His dad knew about Harry’s band, but it was an implied family rule to not mention it. That was Harry’s future in his mind, but if he mentioned it, he was only asking for an argument.

“I don’t know, dad. I’m twenty-one. I have time.”

“You’ll be twenty-two in a month,” Josie pointed out.

“Thanks for reminding me,” Harry said half-sarcastically, knowing she wouldn’t catch on to it anyway.

“You’re welcome,” Josie mumbled while trying to slurp up a string of cheese.

“How about we change the subject?” Harry’s mom said, looking across the table at his dad. “It’s Christmas. Let’s talk about something more pleasant.”

“Alright,” Harry’s dad grunted, then looked back down at his plate. He took another scoop of noodles, chewed, swallowed, then asked, “Any girlfriends?”

Harry laughed. “Plural? I thought that was just a stereotype.”

“Not funny,” his mother warned. “And not in front of your sister.”

Harry thought it was pretty funny, actually. And Josie wasn’t paying attention anyway.

“No girlfriends,” Harry shook his head. “Not even one.”

When that day eventually did come, his family would be the last to find out. The kind of crowd he hung around with wasn’t exactly to their taste.

Without a word, Josie stood from the table and marched towards the fridge. The other three watched her in confusion from the table.

“What are you doing, honey?” their mom asked.

“Harry used the rest of the parmesan. I’m getting more.”

With that diet, she was definitely Harry’s sister.

After dinner was presents, and even still, Harry was always excited for the gift exchange. For his mom, he got her a dainty gold-coloured bracelet that had a flower pendant on it which she absolutely loved, and for his dad, a book he’d been wanting to read. Harry only knew that because his mom called him up and told him to buy it. At least someone was prepared. For Josie, a Blondie CD, but he gave her a Barbie in front of their parents and saved the CD for later. She could listen to it in her Discman and mom and dad would never know.

Harry received the usual practical gifts that he still loved, like new clothes and an electric razor that he hoped one day would make sense for him to use. He also got money, which he was actually quite grateful for because a gift wasn’t a favour. Saving the best for last, Josie was absolutely thrilled to open her Super Nintendo. She and Harry immediately ran to the basement rec room to get it set up, and soon they were sipping homemade hot cocoa from their mother and beginning their quest to save Princess Toadstool and defeat Bowser.

“I got all As on my report card,” Josie announced as they sat slouched back on the couch, eyes glued to the screen and necks bent at an almost uncomfortable angle.

“Yeah? Did you bribe the teachers?”

“I didn’t have to. All the teachers wish they had me in their class.”

She couldn’t quite catch a joke, but at least she was modest.

“Do you have lots of friends at school?” Harry wondered.

“Everyone is my friend.”

A good attitude to have, Harry supposed.

“What do you and your friends do for fun?”

“I dunno. Play, I guess. What do you and your friends do for fun?” Josie countered. She had her tongue bit between her teeth in focus.

“Well, a few of my friends are in a band with me. We’re called Cherry Pez.”

“Strawberry flavoured Pez is better.”

A fair point, he supposed. “We play songs at these tiny concerts on weekends,” Harry told her. “I’ll show you our music once we get a demo recorded.”

“What’s a demo?”

It was easy to forget Josie was only eight sometimes. While she still had the brain of a kid her age, for the most part, her demeanor was of someone who figured life out a long time ago. She was just waiting for everyone else to catch up.

“It’s a CD of sample songs we wrote,” Harry explained simply. “We’re going to show it to people who want to pay us to make music.”

“When are you and me going to make a song?” she wondered. This was an ongoing question from Josie that Harry never really gave a proper answer for. Josie had recently started taking piano lessons after school and really wanted to jam with her big brother sometime.

His character died, so Harry left Josie to finish the level while he leaned forward and sipped his hot cocoa. “Next time mom and dad put me in charge of babysitting you.” Anything to do with rock music was a pretty hard ‘no’ in this household, but that was all Harry knew.

“My friend, Sally, plays guitar. She says she’s really good, but I’ve never heard her play anything. She’s in my class, but sometimes we don’t get along. She sits beside me and talks too much.”

Harry liked the way kids told stories. Not completely linear, but they made sure to fill in all the blanks while still somehow managing to leave you with more questions than when you started.

“You and her should start a band,” he suggested.

“Maybe. It was her birthday last week and she got a new guitar. I’m two months older than her.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the sudden jolt of realization. He put down his mug and stood up to make his way across the carpet and towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Josie whined.

“I just need to make a quick phone call. Play the next level without me,” he said right before jogging up the steps.

When he got to the kitchen, Harry took a quick peek into the living room to see what his parents were up to. His dad was laying across the couch watching the news while his mom sat in the recliner reading a book, glasses perched on her nose. He told them he’d be using the phone for just a minute, then ducked quickly back into the kitchen.

Pulling the phone off its base on the wall, Harry held it between his ear and shoulder while he dug into his pocket for the piece of paper with a phone number scribbled on it. He made sure to get it from Zayn just before he left. After dialing the numbers, he waited patiently through the rings.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I hope you aren’t too busy right now. What am I talking about, I’m sure you are busy. I just wanted to call to- Wait, this is Louis right?”

“Who is this?”

“Harry, uh, from work.”

Louis laughed lightly on the other end. “You just have to say 'Harry'. I don’t have any other friends with your name.”

“Right, um. I just called to wish you a happy birthday. Sorry, is that weird? Zayn mentioned the other day that your birthday was on Christmas Eve and, I don’t know, I always think it’s nice to get phone calls on your birthday.”

“It is nice,” Louis agreed. “Aren’t you with your family though?”

“Yeah, we just finished dinner. My sister is kicking my ass at Mario at the moment. She got a Super Nintendo from our parents,” Harry explained.

“Is that game even competitive?’ Louis wondered. 

“It is when you play with your little sister and keep dying.”

“How old is your sister?”

“She’s eight.”

“That’s cute.”

“Adorable, but sometimes annoying,” Harry said lightheartedly. “So, any big plans tonight?” he wondered. He was twisting the cord so tightly around his finger that it was starting to turn purple.

“Oh, I think I’m going out with a few friends in about an hour. Dinner, drinks, that kind of thing.”

He glanced at the clock on the stove. It was eight in Utah, meaning seven back in Seattle. “Sounds fun. How about tomorrow? Big Christmas plans?”

“I’m going to my mom’s for dinner. My brother and his wife will be there, too.”

“How old is your brother?” Harry asked.

“Twenty-six,” Louis said.

“That’s cute,” Harry replied, and felt ridiculous as soon as he did, but Louis still laughed at the joke. His chest did a very quick shift from twisting with embarrassment to total relief.

“What are your Christmas plans?” Louis asked.

“Church,” Harry sighed, almost forgetting that his parents were in the next room and could likely hear his audible disappointment. “Big family dinner afterward.”

“Sounds nice,” Louis said, and his tone even seemed genuine.

“Well, I shouldn’t keep you much longer if you have plans,” Harry eventually said in order to wrap things up. Josie wasn’t as patient as she seemed. Although did she  _ really  _ seem patient?

“Right, I should be getting ready, I suppose.”

“It was nice talking to you,” Harry told him.

“You too. Thanks for calling, Harry.”

The comment made him smile. “Of course. I’ll see you next week.”

“Enjoy the rest of your trip,” Louis said.

Harry hung up the phone after their goodbyes. Something about the conversation made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like when the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes. Maybe it wasn’t that dramatic, but there was something to appreciate about feeling good after a conversation with someone. Harry loved all his friends, but there was something about Louis that confused him and intrigued him at the same time, and he kind of loved that too.

“HARRY, COME BACK!” Josie commanded from the bottom of the stairs. That was his cue to lose another level of Mario.

 

Louis placed the phone slowly back on its dock, curling his legs in tighter on the couch. Now was a good time to tidy up, he supposed, while his movie was still paused. He had rented  _ Wayne’s World  _ from Zayn’s recommendation. It was quite silly, to be honest, but that was exactly the kind of movie he was in the mood for. Plus, the soundtrack was pretty great. Picking up the half-empty take out containers off his coffee table, he folded up the lids and carried them into the kitchen so he could put them in the fridge for later. There was still some wine left in the bottle he opened, so he brought it back with him so he could finish it off, along with the pint of cookies and cream ice cream he bought as a treat for himself. When he pressed play on the remote, Wayne and Garth were about to meet Alice Cooper.

There were no plans to get dinner and drinks with friends later tonight. Louis almost never made plans for his birthday. He told his family he was going out with friends, and he told his friends he was going for dinner with his family. Not that it was too hard to avoid making plans when your birthday lands right around the busiest time of the year. Everyone always wanted to do something the weekend before or lump it in with the New Years celebrations, but he couldn’t be bothered. Birthdays come and go every year and Louis’ cynical mind didn’t see the point in celebrating. He’d much rather be alone, and that sentiment applied to more than just birthdays.

Zayn did convince Louis to let him take him out for breakfast that morning. The two of them had coffee and diner pancakes and it was actually quite a nice time. Zayn never agreed with Louis’ lack of birthday plans, and he also knew Louis well enough to know he was lying about spending it with his family. He already had to spend Christmas day with his family. He wouldn’t go through that twice in a row.

Don’t get him wrong, Louis loved his family. They were supportive of each other and never fought, but they all had their own little worlds. Jonny, his older brother, and Carol, Jonny’s wife, had announced their plans to move to Florida next summer for work and to raise their family. The announcement came with the one that Carol was pregnant, meaning they were going to take their mother’s first grandchild to the other side of the country. Which was fine, because that was their life and they had to do what was best for them. Louis and Jonny’s mother lived quite lavishly off her alimony for someone who didn’t have a job, so it was likely she would be making frequent trips to visit and begging Louis to come along each time. When her boyfriend of the month couldn’t make it, that was.

Dad was another story. He wouldn’t be joining them for Christmas, but he would send presents in the form of cheques. If they were lucky, they might even get a card attached.

Did that paint enough of a picture? 

So Louis was alone for his birthday, and that was exactly the way he wanted it. He sunk lower into the cushion and pulled his blanket higher. Deja, who was curled up on the other end of the couch, stretched out her paws with a yawn. She nudged her head into Louis’ hand, hoping to be pet while she let out a tiny meow. When the movie finished, Louis put in  _ Home Alone  _ next so he could at least try to get into the Christmas spirit. He was sort of hoping for another phone call from someone specific, even though he knew better than to hope, but fell asleep on the couch before it ever rang.

Just another part of his yearly tradition.


	7. Chapter 7

Once again, Harry found himself with a new place to call home. This time, it was a basement suite where he had his own room and shared it with his future-best-friend Wren. Future, because she hadn’t quite fully embraced their inevitable bond like Niall had—Yes, that was his full capacity for platonic love—but she’d get there soon enough.

As of right now, Harry’s bedroom was pretty bare. He had ideas for posters and candles and maybe a plant to sit in the corner, but that was before he remembered his tendency to make plans in his head and never follow through with them. Honestly, he was lucky his bed got a fitted sheet put on it before he gave up completely on move-in day. Emptying two suitcases into a bedroom  _ and  _ trying to actually organize was harder than it looked.

But, man, was sleeping in a real bed nice. He had four pillows and a giant duvet and could sprawl his limbs to his heart’s content. The bed was shoved into the corner, as it should be, and there was a bedside table next to it, housing an alarm clock that he was actually going to start to use. He even had a dresser and a bookshelf. Real furniture! This must’ve been what being an adult was like.

Wren wasn’t lying about the place being nice. It wasn’t as nice as Louis’ place, but it wasn’t a dump either. The kitchen was more than big enough for two people and all the appliances were in working order. There was a living room and a TV and a couch that was only reserved for drunk friends and late-night TV binges in terms of sleeping. The two of them had to share a bathroom which wasn’t ideal but it was better than three people sharing a bathroom. Good thing Harry didn’t require a lot in terms of toiletry storage space because besides an empty toothbrush hole and a corner for his shampoo and conditioner bottles in the shower, there wasn’t much room left.

To be clear, Harry was only on his first full day living with Wren. He got back from Utah on the second day of the month and dragged all his stuff over via an overly-willing ride from Niall that morning. Wren made them grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch while Harry organized, then they sat and watched MTV while Wren judged Harry for dipping his sandwich in ketchup. It was the only way to eat grilled cheese, in Harry’s opinion. 

In a strange turn of events, Harry had fallen asleep long before midnight, causing him to wake up at the totally reasonable time of nine in the morning. It was Harry’s last day off before going back to work, and he couldn’t wait to do nothing. No family obligations, no band practice, just him, a room all to himself, his guitar and maybe a good book to read.

But that was before the doorbell rang.

“Happy New Year!” Liam cheered, blowing a noisemaker in Wren’s face as soon as she opened the door. He was carrying a bouquet of balloons in his hand and had their friends on his trail. Harry was getting a glass of water in the kitchen when he heard all the commotion and watched them file in. After Liam came Niall, Zayn, then to Harry’s surprise, Louis.

“What are you doing here?” Wren asked them all, leaving the question of why they didn’t call first implied.

“House warming party,” Liam said as everyone started to make themselves comfortable. Zayn was carrying a cake, Niall brought in a case of beer, and Louis was holding what appeared to be a small potted plant.

“You are aware that one of us has been living here for literal years, right?” Wren said to the group.

“But the other one hasn’t,” Niall pointed out, emptying the cans of beer into the fridge. 

“The other one is tired and has to work tomorrow,” Harry said, even though he had to admit, he was quite flattered that they went to all this trouble.

“So do these two,” Zayn pointed out, gesturing between himself and Louis. He was setting the cake down at their tiny excuse for a dining room table while Liam got out a knife, plates, and forks. Wren helped, but reluctantly. “Everyone come get a piece!” he said, wasting no time. Harry finally got a look at the cake and saw that it had an icing-drawn kid playing hockey on it.

“What’s this for?” he asked Niall.

“I think it was an unclaimed one,” Niall shrugged. “It was on sale.”

“Why are these from New Years Eve?” Wren asked, poking at a helium balloon. It was sagging lower to the ground than normal. “That was two days ago.”

“Leftover from the club,” Zayn announced from the other side of the room.

As pieces of cake were being handed out, Harry realized Louis was standing right behind him.

“I brought you a little gift,” he said, setting the pot down on the kitchen counter. “I figure every house should have a plant in it. A cactus is pretty hard to kill, so it seemed like the perfect fit for you.”

Harry let out a short laugh, looking closely at the different levels and poking at it even though he knew it would be sharp. Sometimes you just have to make sure, you know? “It is perfect for me,” he agreed. “Thank you.”

“It’s not weird that I came too, is it?” Louis asked.

“It’s weird that everyone came,” Harry replied, handing Louis the next piece of cake served.

“Zayn invited me along. He made it seem like it was just a casual thing and we all kind of know each other, so I-”

“I think ‘friends’ is the word you’re looking for,” Niall said, overhearing the conversation. He had a plate in his hand and patted Louis’ back with his free one, then turned back around to grab a beer. The kitchen may have been big enough for two people, but six was pushing it.

“It’s really nice that you’re here,” Harry told Louis in assurance. “Want a drink?”

Louis smiled, looking more relieved. It was strange because Harry had never seen Louis be the one uncomfortable in a situation before. He understood why, though. Louis felt like an outsider among people who had been friends for years. The feeling wouldn’t last.

“A beer would be great,” Louis said. “Thanks.”

Later into the night, Wren, Liam, and Zayn had gotten into a heated battle in  _ Street Fighter _ , caught in a never-ending loop of “I’ll play the winner.” While the two players took up the pillow mountain in front of the TV, which was Zayn and Wren, at the moment, Niall was deep in thought from the corner of the couch.

“Okay, how about Popeye?” Niall asked the group.

“Easy,” Zayn said. “Patrick Swayze.”

“Oh, with those arms, absolutely,” Liam agreed. “Alright, Daffy Duck.”

“It’s gotta be a comedian,” Wren said, “like Billy Crystal.” That seemed to fit the general consensus.

“Here’s a harder one: Charlie Brown,” Zayn proposed.

“The kid from  _ Home Alone _ ,” Harry said, his first contribution of the night. 

This was a game they liked to play, usually to procrastinate, but often after a few drinks. The idea was to name a cartoon character and decide on the actor best suited to play them. Not the voiceover, of course. This was to be a live-action version. Harry wasn’t exactly well-adept in cartoon characters and definitely did not know enough about celebrities to identify their fictional counterparts.

“That’s a great movie. I just rewatched it last week,” Louis said. The two of them were sitting at the table playing War with a deck of cards that was already left there, half-eaten plates of cake sitting next to them. Harry only ever ate the icing off his, but he noticed Louis scraped his icing off.

“I’ve never actually seen it,” Harry shrugged.

“That’s a cheap answer,” Niall scolded from across the room. “You’re just saying that because he’s a kid.”

“What about that kid from  _ The Goonies _ with a stutter?” Liam suggested, but Wren had already moved on before the debate could continue.

“I have two,” she said. “The question is Velma and Daphne from Scooby-Doo and the answer is Winona Ryder and Michelle Pfeiffer, respectively.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Niall said. 

Harry looked at Louis for backup as he shook his head and Louis offered a sympathetic smile. There was no winning for him.

“What about Scooby, himself?” Louis suggested. He had previously been very focused on their game of War, which he was winning at the moment. However, when he said the words a tension gripped the air around them.

“Oh, no,” Harry warned. “You can’t bring that up.”

“Why? What’s wrong with Scooby?” Wren asked.

Niall stood up slowly, bringing his empty can along with him. Liam looked away from him and to the ground, shaking his head in thought. As he entered the kitchen, Niall aggressively opened the fridge door in search of another drink.

“You’ve really done it,” Harry said, and for a moment Louis looked genuinely concerned.

Zayn sighed. “Please don’t tell that fucking story–”

“It was spring last year,” Liam said, still keeping his face low. “Cherry Pez had just got together and had barely had a rehearsal. We decided to take a road trip together, just a couple hours away to pick up a used drum kit I wanted to buy from a friend of mine. We thought we could use the drive to get to know each other a bit.”

“I had my old Beamer at the time,” Niall continued, “and the radio was busted. That meant we had to come up with our own entertainment. Thus, Cartoon Recast was born.” He dramatically popped his can open, letting Liam take over again.

“It was easy at first. A simple game. Bugs Bunny would be Robin Williams, Marge Simpson would be Goldie Hawn, Fred Flintstone would be Ray Romano, and so on. But then we got to Scooby-Doo…”

“The argument lasted the rest of the drive there  _ and  _ the drive back,” Harry said.

“No, he always tells it wrong,” Niall put a hand out to stop him from continuing. “This is between Liam and me.”

“Liam thought it should be the nerdy kid from  _ The Breakfast Club _ and Niall thought it should be Steven Tyler,” Zayn said, refusing to let this build-up continue any longer. It was interrupting his focus and he needed to maintain his winning streak.

“Wait…” Wren looked up in confusion. “Steven Tyler from Aerosmith?”

“And that is why Niall is absolutely out of his mind,” Liam argued without missing a beat. “Anthony Michael Hall is the perfect goofy dork to play that role.”

“Yeah, and that’s why the casting would be so boring! Steven Tyler would mix it up and totally pull it off. Plus, Scooby-Doo would look great in a thin scarf.”

“Steven Tyler isn’t even an actor!” Liam stood up this time. “You’re totally breaking the rules of the game!”

“The rules are to pick a celebrity. What am I breaking? Tell me.” Niall put a listening hand to his ear. “Tell me!”

“Oh, wow,” Louis said, only loud enough for Harry to hear. The arguing continued in the background.

“Told ya,” Harry sighed. “You can see why Zayn doesn’t bring friends like you around too often.”

“What? No, I really like hanging out with you guys. Honestly, this is one of the most entertaining nights I’ve had in a long time.”

Harry looked down at the card Louis put in front of him. It was a nine, and the last card Harry had was a four. “That’s just because you won,” Harry teased, lightly tossing his card onto the table.

Louis shrugged. “Let’s have a rematch. See if I can prove you wrong.”

Harry smiled. It was a skilless game of chance, but he had to admit, he was quite enjoying himself too. “Shuffle the deck, then. I’ll grab us a couple more drinks.”

 

The fact that Harry and Wren could get the guys out of their apartment by midnight was a miracle, to be honest. Zayn didn’t drink so he could drive them home, knowing that if he didn’t take it upon himself to be the D.D., everyone else would be more than happy to invite themselves for a little sleepover. Thank god for friends like Zayn.

Going to work the next week was something Harry actually found himself looking forward to. It would be nice to be taking home those tips every night and to do something that would feel productive again. However, there was one downside. Moving out of Niall’s apartment meant moving away from Zayn’s route, so there went Harry’s ride to and from work.

Harry had said it before and he’d say it again: he really did enjoy taking the bus. But once again, the midnight end time was a problem for getting home. The first night, Zayn offered a ride. the second two, he was calling up a cab.

Thursday night was Harry’s slowest shift since he started working at Club Rose. Zayn said he figured that everyone must have been partied out from the holidays, but the lack of business likely also had to do with the blizzard currently raging outside. If it wasn’t for a group of regulars sat at their usual booth for the night, the place would look like the results of an attempted “Ladies Night” special.

“What are you doing?” Zayn asked as he finished drying the rest of the few glasses they had used that night. It was only eleven, but Louis already agreed to a midnight close tonight. Tips and hours would suffer, but no one was complaining about getting home before that storm got any worse. Besides, Zayn had been sniffling and complaining about a plugged nose all night.

“I’m drawing,” Harry stated. He had his back hunched over the bar and was leaning most of his weight on one arm. With a sheet of receipt paper in front of him, he was quite determined to get the shading just right. He probably should’ve picked a better utensil than a half-dead pen.

“Drawing what?”

“Butterfly,” Harry said, shading in one of the wings. Doodling was only a hobby of his when there was nothing else to do.

“Can I see it?”

“It’s shit,” Harry replied. He also wasn’t about to show Zayn, an actual art school student, his bored-at-work scribbles for critique.

Harry dropped the pen on the counter and folded the corners in. Once it somewhat resembled an airplane, he sent it gliding towards the back room. Surprisingly, it was a fairly streamlined flight. He didn’t bother to retrieve it when it landed in someone’s tip cup on the counter.

Sensing a new presence, Zayn and Harry turned just as Louis was lifting the counter to get behind the bar. He didn’t seem to be in a rush like he usually was. Instead, he folded his arms and leaned a hip on the counter next to Zayn.

“I think I just finished all my paperwork before close for the first time ever,” Louis said. “I even counted up the tills early.”

“I can’t wait to get home,” Zayn sighed. “I think I’m catching round two of a cold.”

“Just go home, man,” Louis said. “Harry and I can close.”

“Yeah?” he was already walking towards the back, no convincing needed. “Thanks, I’ll get some rest so I can make it in tomorrow.”

“Feel better!” Harry called after him, and Zayn replied with his thanks before heading out the back door, leaving behind a gust of wind and a small flurry of snow.

“Fuckin’ hell, it really is cold,” Louis said, rubbing his exposed arms to keep them warm. He glanced at Harry who was now using the pen to draw tiny stars on the back of his hand. It really was the epitome of boredom. “You want a drink?” he asked Harry.

Harry barely looked up from his hand. “I thought we weren’t supposed to drink on the job.”

“Meh,” Louis shrugged. “We’re barely working. What do you drink?”

“Make me whatever you’re making. You have a specialty?”

“I do, actually,” Louis said, getting slightly excited at the mention of it. “You like martinis?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever tried one,” Harry admitted, putting his pen away once and for all as Louis started getting the ingredients out.

“This one might be a little strong of an introduction, but I think you’ll like it.” He had a shaker in his hand now and that’s how Harry knew he was really getting fancy with it. 

Louis wore a smile as he shook the ingredients up with two hands. Harry slid down the counter closer to him, watching him pull out the martini glasses and pour the mixture. He garnished each of them with a lemon peel that he sliced off a wedge, then handed one of the glasses to Harry. They clinked them together for no real reason and took a sip.

“That is strong,” Harry said shallowly with squinted eyes. “But good!”

“You like it?” Louis was taking much tinier sips, which was probably the right idea.

Harry nodded. “You should get the owner to put it on the menu.”

“I don’t know if the Vesper Martini would fit the mood of this place.”

“You named it?”

Louis laughed. “The author of James Bond named it.”

“Oh,” Harry let out a forced laugh. “Right, yeah.” He’d never read a James Bond book or seen a James Bond movie in his life. 

“I’m not a fan, but he knows a great cocktail,” Louis said, then took another small sip.

Harry set his glass down on the counter and pulled out a short glass from underneath. “Do you like cherry whiskey?” he asked.

“Are you trying to get me drunk? I do need to drive home, you know,” Louis teased.

“This is just a little taste test,” Harry said, filling the glass with ice and searching the back shelf for the cherry whiskey he remembered seeing there. It didn’t get a lot of use. “I like to mix it with Coke and a little lime,” he continued. “It’s really good if you like sweet drinks.”

Giving the drink a little stir, he finished it off with a lime wedge on the rim and slid it closer to Louis. He picked it up and gave it a whiff before trying it.

“Oh!” he said in surprise. “That is good, actually. I normally don’t like whiskey.”

“You can barely taste the whiskey in it,” Harry admitted.

“Yeah, that’s probably why I like it.” He took another sip. “You know, this we  _ could  _ add to the menu. It’s simple to mix and would make a good weekend special.”

“Really?” Getting a drink on the menu really wasn’t Harry’s intention at all. Frankly, it wasn’t that impressive of a mixed drink, to begin with. But Louis was right, it did taste good.

“Just cherry whiskey, lime, and Coke, then?” Louis clarified.

“That’s right, yeah.”

“Hm,” he hummed. “I’ll have to remember that.”

During cleanup, Harry gave the floors a quick sweep and skipped the mopping. It really wasn’t worth it, considering how few people walked across these floors since last night. Louis finished tidying up behind the bar while Harry set chairs on top of tables. The storm was getting so bad that they could hear the wind outside all the way from the basement.

“I’m driving you home,” Louis said as he crossed the empty bar towards his office. “Grab your jacket. No arguing.” He added a half-smile as he pushed open the door with his back. This time, Harry didn’t bother arguing. He wasn’t even sure taxis would be running in this weather.

Jogging towards the back room, Harry pulled his jacket off its hook pulled an arm through each sleeve. He really had to get something warmer if the snow wasn’t going away anytime soon. It took a while to get here, but it came packing a punch. Maybe next paycheck.

Speaking of money, Harry couldn’t forget to grab his tips out of his cup. Not that there was a lot in there. He made about twenty bucks, so he just pocketed the bills. No need to trade them in for anything bigger. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he noticed where his little airplane had landed: right in Louis’ tip cup.

He pulled it out at first with the intention to throw it out, but then he thought better of it. Instead, he folded the creases better and dropped it back in. Let it be a mystery when he found it, Harry decided.

The blizzard was miserable and Louis had to have the wipers moving rapidly to be able to see anything in front of him at all. The roads were pretty much dead and the lines for each lane were covered by a blanket of white. These were definitely not driving conditions, but what were they going to do? Sleep in a booth at work?

“Are you hungry?” Harry asked just as Louis pulled up in front of his place. They always called it an apartment because that’s what it looked like on the inside, but it was really just the basement suite of someone’s house. 

“Uh, I don’t know if we should keep driving in this,” Louis said.

“Yeah, you’re right. Come in for a little bit and I’ll make some food,” Harry offered. “Give the snow a chance to lighten up.”

“What if it gets worse?”

Harry shrugged. “I have a couch.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose. Wren’s probably trying to sleep, right?”

“She works nights too,” Harry told him. “Come on. You don’t let me say no to a ride home, so I won’t let you say no to camping out here until the roads are safer to drive on.”

“Alright,” Louis agreed as he turned to the key to shut off the engine. “But I’ll admit, I didn’t peg you for much of a cook.”

Louis was absolutely right in that assumption. Harry wasn’t a cook on any account, unless you count sticking a frozen pizza in the oven as cooking. Luckily, he learned how to boil water from an early age, and his shelf in the pantry was stocked almost exclusively with boxed macaroni and cheese. 

Harry headed straight for the kitchen to find a pot and pull out a box of his favourite meal. As Louis shed his coat, Harry told him he could just toss it anywhere. He hung it up in the entryway closet anyway.

“Wren keeps this place quite clean,” Louis said, his arms folded as he walked shyly into the kitchen.

“Yeah, I’m trying to do more of the cleaning,” Harry said as he twisted the knob on the stove to the highest temperature. “It was nice of her to let me move in, so I don’t want her to think I’m actually a dick. I don’t have a great track record with roommates.”

“Had a few bad ones?”

“Usually, I’m the bad one. But not this time!” he declared.

While Harry got out two bowls, waiting for the water to boil, Louis leaned against the counter across from him. “I don’t think I could handle living with a roommate. I moved out as soon as I turned eighteen. Lived with a boyfriend for a while, but for the most part, I’ve had the place to myself.”

“You had your own place when you were eighteen?”

Louis looked unsure of how to answer that question. He scratched the back of his neck while he considered a proper answer. “My dad owns some property,” he settled on. “My apartment is one of his old places.”

That made much more sense. Not a lot of people in their twenties could afford an apartment all on their own, and definitely not an apartment as nice as Louis’. If he came from money, that answered most of Harry’s questions. Except, maybe, why he would be managing a bar if his parents were loaded. The look on Louis’ face indicated that maybe he shouldn’t attempt to pry further.

“You like ketchup on your mac and cheese?” Harry asked as he split the finished pot evenly between two bowls.

“No, I’m good, thanks.”

“Smart man,” Harry praised, setting the pot back on its burner. “Pepper?”

“Just a little bit.”

“Even smarter.” 

He carried both bowls into the living room while Louis followed behind with two glasses of water. They sat in front of the TV and practically scarfed down their food. Harry may not have been a good cook, but he made a mean bowl of mac and cheese. When they clicked on the TV, a late-night rerun of  _ Alf _ was already playing so they decided to leave the channel on. It was one of the few shows Harry was actually allowed to watch as a kid. For some reason, an anteater-looking alien was perfectly fine in his parents’ eyes, but the Flintstones was evolutionist propaganda.

Surprisingly, the snow actually did lighten up about two hours later, so the couch was unneeded for Louis to stay the night. Harry left their dirty bowls in the sink before walking him to the door. He had to admit, he was quite looking forward to turning back down that hall and heading straight to bed.

“Thanks for letting me camp out,” Louis said as he pulled his jacket back on. “And for the mac and cheese. You’ll have to send me the recipe.”

Harry smiled at the joke. “Anytime,” he said, and really meant it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow if I don’t get buried in snow.”

“Technically, I’ll see you tonight,” Harry pointed out. He felt the internal cringe as soon as he said it.

With a laugh, Louis shook his head. “Goodnight, Harry.”

Louis opened the door and slipped out quickly so he could make it to his car before he froze. Harry listened through the door for a moment to make sure he heard his car start, then locked up for the night. 

Hey, at least he could make him laugh.


	8. Chapter 8

The best part of any concert is the middle. That’s when the energy has truly peaked. A couple of guitar picks already snapped, drum heads covered in dripping sweat. You look out at the crowd and they’re singing and screaming and you know one smile can make them scream even louder. The right song will make them lose their minds, and the anticipation is only building because that’s the one up next. One note and the sound is deafening. And you’re on top of the world.

Harry didn’t know what any of that felt like. Not from the stage, anyway. From the audience, it was electrifying, but he could only imagine what it would be like to wield the power of an arena’s stage.

Something Harry learned after playing clubs for months on end with limited advancement in sight was that you had to treat every show like it was an arena show. Forget about the limits of the stage and the sound. Forget that there are only sixty or thirty or ten people looking at you. In your mind, you can be wherever you want to be. Multiply that audience by a hundred or a thousand and go as hard as you want. Make it worth it for those ten people. Fake it till you make it, right?

Wren had a similar approach to her performance style. She was probably the best thing to happen to Cherry Pez. Actually, no, she  _ was  _ the best thing to happen to Cherry Pez. She brought everything their sound was missing and improved every idea that sucked tenfold. How the hell they managed to book a gig before her, Harry had no idea.

Of course, a band is more than one person and everyone was important. Liam was their emotional glue. He mediated as many fights as he started and was best friends with them all. He made it fun when everyone was getting too serious. They had to be serious too, but they wouldn’t be trying to get into this business if they didn’t think it would be fun too. He was also the only one who knew how the sound equipment worked from his year in a sound engineering program. Even though he dropped out, he had enough experience to be their one-man roadie.

Niall was the hardass. ‘Leader’ wasn’t the right word, but he made sure they had their shit together. He booked their gigs and dealt with all the money. Basically, anything a manager would do, but they couldn’t afford a manager. It was all the dirty work, but he wouldn’t do it if he wasn’t willing.

Wren had all but took over writing duties for the band, but she was definitely the best lyrical writer. She could put words to any tune Harry came up with. They made a pretty good creative team, and sharing an apartment made opportunities for writing sessions abundant. It was starting to get their hopes up. It was making them want to record.

Tonight was their last scheduled performance at the Jaded Pig. It would be a sad occasion if it wasn’t for the fact that it meant their Saturdays had now completely opened up. It may have been them just thinking ambitiously, but Saturday was the best night to book a show. That was when you could draw the biggest crowd. If they could fill that slot with something better—sorry, Jaded Pig—then they could really start making something of themselves.

Fortunately for Cherry Pez, it was going to be easier than they thought.

After the show, as Harry and Niall sat at the bar with towels around their necks and glasses of ice water already half chugged, a woman in an oversized black coat and slim trousers approached them. She was dressed for a day at work rather than a night out at a club, but she had a martini glass in her well-manicured hand when she sat down next to them.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” she said, extending her hand to Niall before he even realized she was sitting next to him. He shook it cautiously. “My name is Erica Katzman and I’m the owner of Katzman Theatre downtown. Have you heard of it?”

“We have,” Niall said, his attention fully obtained. Harry stretched his neck to look over Niall’s shoulder.

 Of course they had heard of Katzman Theatre. Any band who was one tour away from an arena show headlined Katzman Theatre. Okay, maybe two tours away. And the arena show was as a double opener, but that’s still an arena! The theatre wasn’t a huge venue, but it wasn’t a bar or club either. What you would see there were actual concerts. Small concerts, but concerts nonetheless.

“Good,” she grinned. “Before we talk, may I ask who takes care of the business for the band?”

“I do,” Niall said, his hand ready to shove Harry away if need be. Not that Harry would claim to be the one that takes care of business, but his loose lips could easily land them in a bad deal. Niall was the negotiator for a reason.

“Excellent.” Erica sat up straighter and slid the coaster holding her drink out of the way. “Let me start by saying I really like what you’re doing up there. Don’t get excited thinking I’m in a position to get you guys any sort of record deal, but I think you’re good and you can put on a show. Clearly, I’m not the only one who thinks that way.”

From her purse, she slid out a copy of  _ Applause _ , a local fanzine that Harry occasionally spotted at the record store. Actually,  _ Applause  _ had been establishing themselves into something credible. Ads tended to be against the morals of fanzines, but last time he read it, the back page was telling him the best place to get a haircut in town.

“Turn to page 6,” she said, handing it to Niall.

He opened the magazine on the bar in front of him so Harry could see too. In the review section, in the top right corner taking up almost half a page, was a picture taken of Cherry Pez at their show last week. Wren was in centre view, with Harry just behind her, Niall on her left, and Liam in the background. More importantly, though, were the words next to it.

“Is this our first review?” Harry looked up at Niall in amazement, barely scanning the first few words.

“Feel free to have your little “Cover of the Rolling Stone” moment in a second, but I still have a proposal to run by you guys,” Erica continued. “I’m friends with Al, the owner of this place. He’s the one who told me about you guys when I saw the review. I’ll be honest, you’re well-liked, but can’t seem to draw in a crowd. We think we can help you out. Sweet Water are headlining a one-night-only gig next Saturday, but their opener just cancelled this morning. I know it’s only a week’s notice, but we’re desperate.”

Desperation seemed to be Harry’s key to good luck recently.

“We’ll do it,” Niall said without needing any more information. There was no way they would turn down an offer like this.

“Well, there is a catch,” Erica spoke slowly, but still confidently. This was the work of a businesswoman. “We have no money left in the budget to pay a new band since the old opener ate up our deposit. With that said, this is a big show. Your name will be on the handbills this week and on the marquee on Saturday night. Long story short, you’ll get paid in publicity, but no money will be swapping hands. That’s something we can’t budge on.”

Niall’s smile faltered, but Harry’s sure didn’t.

“Consider us hired!” Harry said with a grin. 

Niall quickly turned around in his seat to face him. “Hold on,” he said. “Shouldn’t we talk to the band about this? It’s a free gig. We don’t do free gigs. This is a job.”

“I’ll give you boys a few minutes to talk it over,” Erica said, standing from her seat and taking her drink with her. “Come find me when you’ve made a decision.”

Once she was out of earshot, Harry leaned closer to Niall. “Why would we say no to this? It’ll be the biggest show we’ve ever played! Who cares about a paycheck?”

“There’s no way we’re ready for a show that big,” Niall stressed, keeping his voice down. “If we fuck up, all we’re going to be to those people is an embarrassment. We’d be losing out on money and ruining our reputation while we’re at it.”

Niall had a point, but he was forgetting one vital possibility.

“Yeah, but what if we blow the fucking roof off that theatre?” Harry said. Also a fair point.

Looking over Niall’s shoulder, Harry noticed Wren approaching them with her jacket on and a bag over her shoulder. He hit Niall lightly on the chest with the back of his hand to indicate her presence.

“Are we leaving soon?” Wren asked, appearing more than ready to go. “I gotta work tomorrow and I believe I was promised a ride home. I assume that means you’re coming too.” She looked at Harry.

“Are we going to tell her?” Harry whispered to Niall even though his voice could clearly be heard by anyone in a five-foot radius.

“Wha-?” Niall gave him a strange look. “She’s in the band, why would we not tell her?”

“Tell me what?” Wren folded her arms. Being left in the dark was not something she was too fond of. Ever.

“We got an offer to open for Sweet Water at the Katzman Theatre next week,” Niall told her flatly. “The owner just approached us because the original opener cancelled. It’s unpaid, but it would help to get our name out there.”

Wren’s eyes widened slightly, then she scoffed. “We are not ready for that,” she said.

“That’s what I’m saying!” Niall exclaimed, looking back to Harry.

“But we obviously have to take it,” Wren continued. “An opening gig at a theatre? Don’t be dense, Niall. Go find that owner and tell them we’re in. We’ll practice all week until it kills us.”

“Shouldn’t we talk to Liam first?” Niall suggested, but he knew he already lost this battle. Not that he was upset about the loss. He wanted to play the gig, but he was right. They weren’t ready. Wren was right too, though. They could try their hardest to get there.

“If Liam says no then we’ll find a new drummer,” Harry claimed. He was joking, but Liam would also have to be pretty dense to refuse the gig as well.

Niall chugged the rest of his water, left the empty cup on the counter along with his damp, sweaty towel, and stood from his stool. “I’ll go find Erica Katzman, then,” he sighed. They trusted him to sort out all of the details.

“So,” Wren said, filling up Niall’s spot. “How did we get so lucky to receive such an offer? We don’t even have an updated demo yet.”

“But we do have a good review.” Harry slid over the opened copy of  _ Applause  _ so Wren could get a good look at it.

“Holy shit.” She lifted it off the table to bring it closer to her eyes. “That’s us?”

“Four out of five stars isn’t too bad, huh?” Harry smiled.

“We do need to get on that demo, though,” Wren pointed out, briefly looking up from the article. “That’s next after the show next week.”

Harry couldn’t wait to get into a studio. Just give him a time and place and he’d show up with his guitar. The rest of the operation was better suited in the hands of Wren and Niall. 

 

By Tuesday, Harry had felt like he was rehearsing in his head at all times. Going over intricate patterns in his mind and subtly strumming rhythms as he moved around behind the bar. This last week was the most serious the four of them had ever taken the band. The performance on Saturday felt like their one shot. Their big break. And they weren’t even getting paid.

It was nice to have Zayn back at work. Louis was fun to work with too, but he had a habit of disappearing from the bar since he had about a thousand other things he had to do as manager. Bartending wasn’t exactly his top priority until a line started to form.

Harry never checked his tip cup until the end of the night. It was kind of nice to see it suddenly full of bills collected over the course of the night. But this time, tucked between a couple of ones, was a folded piece of receipt paper. No phone number this time. It looked like it was an attempt at a paper airplane, but the wings were slightly too narrow to be able to fly.

_ Your butterfly looked lonely,  _ the note said underneath a small drawing of a bird taking flight. If Harry didn’t already know the first note landed in Louis’ cup, he’d still be able to tell by the handwriting that it was from him. With a bit more digging, he also found that his own drawing had been placed in the cup as well.

So Harry found some more receipt paper and began to work on another doodle. He drew a simple flower with a butterfly rested on top, then a bird flying in the distance. Folding it into an airplane—one that could actually fly—he let it land back in Louis’ cup. Now the bird and the butterfly were friends.

He was getting paid to stand around and do this.

Wednesday afternoon was brought to Harry by a phone call, which was weird because he had already talked to his parents and sister over the weekend. No one else ever really bothered to call. It was more of a “show up unannounced whenever you want” kind of friend group. Harry wasn’t even sure he knew what the phone number was for his new place. He really had to ask Wren about that…

Harry was barely awake as he traipsed around the kitchen, barefoot and pants-less since he had no one to impress around here. Wren couldn’t care less about his clothing habits as long as she didn’t have to bear witness to more than she ever wanted to. Harry was sat on top of the counter with a bowl of French Toast Crunch in his hands and the TV on in the living room for background noise. He swallowed his bite before picking up the phone off the wall next to him and bringing it to his ear.

“I’m surprised you’re up this early,” said the other end of the line. Harry had to take a second to match up the sound of his voice to his memory.

“Is this Louis?” he asked.

“Sorry, yeah. I got your number through Zayn. I hope that’s okay.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine,” Harry said. Maybe he should’ve asked Zayn to give him the number too.

“I had a question for you, actually,” Louis said, a certain shyness to his voice. It was odd the circumstances that brought him from overly confident to timid. Harry didn’t think he was the type to change his own guise, himself.

“I have this storage room at my apartment that’s just full of old records and tapes. I was going through it today and was wondering if you wanted to help me decide what to sell and what to keep? You can keep anything I don’t want.”

Harry did not own a record player. He only recently bought himself a walkman. With that said, records were cool and he’d take anything that was free. He was an easy man to please.

“I could, but I–” Harry turned to look at the time on the microwave. It was almost noon now, and he had to be at band practice by three. Since Harry worked at seven, they wanted to get in a couple of hours of rehearsal beforehand. Then again, if he showered quickly, he could probably stop by Louis’ for a little while. 

“Actually, yeah. I’d love to help,” Harry decided. “I can be there in half an hour.”

“Yeah? Okay, um.” Louis almost sounded flustered, like he wasn’t expecting Harry to say yes. “Just call the buzzer at the front door when you get here. I’ll let you in.”

“Cool,” Harry smiled to himself. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Louis’ apartment building was always so strange to Harry. He just didn’t get how he could live somewhere with polished floors and an elevator that could take you all the way up to a penthouse. Louis wasn’t the one living in the penthouse, of course, but he was only a few floors off. As Harry stood in that elevator, waiting for it to take him up, he wondered again how the hell a guy working in a tiny bar could afford this.

Louis opened the door with a smile. He had on baggy jeans and a sweatshirt rolled to his elbows. Holding the door open wider, he stepped out of the way so Harry could enter. He even took Harry’s jacket from him and hung it up properly in the entryway closet. 

“Do you want some coffee? I just made a fresh pot,” Louis said as he walked towards the kitchen, Harry following slowly behind. The apartment had a pretty open concept, but Harry had only been here once and didn’t feel right walking around on his own.

“That would be great actually,” Harry said. The only con about living with Wren so far was that she drank tea, not coffee. Meaning if Harry wanted coffee, he had to make it himself. No resorting to nuking the cold leftovers anymore. It would just be more work now, was all.

“Cream and sugar?”

“Please.”

Taking two matching mugs from the top cupboard, Louis sat them out on the counter next to the coffee pot that was just about ready to beep. He then got the carton of cream from the fridge and two teaspoons from a drawer. 

“So where are all these records we’re going to browse?” Harry asked once he had a full mug in front of him, the spoon clinking on the ceramic as he stirred.

“Come with me,” Louis said, bringing his coffee with him. Harry followed him down the short hall where the bedroom and bathroom were, but only then noticed there was one more door. Because Louis was the only person who lived here, Harry was under the impression that it was a one-bedroom apartment. “This is the storage room,” Louis continued, quickly resolving his confusion. “It’s a lot of collector’s items that I’ve been meaning to get rid of. Mostly art, some of my dad’s old stuff. It’s just taking up space, honestly. I thought I’d start with the records and you seemed the most qualified.”

Louis opened the door to a room piled high with boxes, artwork covered in cloth, old furniture that wouldn’t have matched Louis’ living room. A mattress was pushed up against the far wall, and there was even an empty birdcage in the middle of the room. It reminded Harry of his grandparents’ attic, and that had easily been fifty years in the making. The boxes with records took up one corner of the room, so Louis brought his focus there.

“Where’d all this stuff come from?” Harry asked as Louis pulled out the first box. There were six total, meaning this might be a longer afternoon than previously assumed.

“Just collected over the years, I guess,” Louis shrugged. 

“Ah,” Harry said simply. A guy in his mid-twenties had collected this much  _ shit  _ over the years? Don’t get him wrong, Harry was sure there had to be some cool stuff amongst all these boxes, but on the outside, it just looked like a bunch of shit.

Louis pulled one box out and unfolded the flaps. When he sat down and put his cup on the floor next to him, Harry took that as a cue to do the same. He took out a short stack of records, hesitating before he handed them over. Harry watched him in confusion.

“It’s all my dad’s stuff,” Louis said. “Everything in this room. This is his old place. He gave it to me when he skipped town, so I sold what I could at first, then threw the rest in here. .”

Now that was starting to answer a few more questions.

“Where is he living now?” Harry asked.

Louis laughed dryly. “Who knows… He said he was moving to New York at first, then changed his mind and said he was going to L.A. Every time I get a phone call it has a different area code.”

“Did he move for work?”

“Yeah,” Louis took a deep breath and sighed. “I guess you could say he’s a bit of a workaholic.” From Harry’s perspective, he’d say the same thing about Louis.

Harry looked through the first stack of ten quickly, then pushed them off to the side. “This is all stuff from the 50s. You can probably just sell them.”

“That might be what all of this is, then.” He reached in for another stack, but Harry stopped him.

“It’s quicker if you flip through them like you’re at a record store,” he said, taking over the job. 

Louis looked at the small pile Harry dismissed, then back up to him with an amused smile. “You want to know a secret?” 

Harry glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow, then went back to looking while still appearing intrigued. All of this box seemed like it was the same era. At least his dad was organized. “I love secrets. I’m terrible at keeping them,” Harry told him.

Louis was still smiling, then leaned back on his hands. “Well, this is a pretty dark one. I’ll just have to trust that you can keep your mouth shut.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“I never even stepped foot into a record store until I was twenty,” he said.

Harry turned to him dramatically, blinking hard as he placed one hand on his hip. “Really?”

Louis laughed. “Really. My mom did  _ not _ like rock music. She hates this new rock even more. Nirvana and all that. Some pop music is okay if it’s on the radio. I think she doesn’t mind Whitney Houston.”

“So what stopped you from going behind her back?”

“I already had a few records. Those ones I showed you that I keep in the living room. I hid them under my bed and could only listen to them at friends’ houses because I didn’t have my own record player. When I was a teenager, I decided I didn’t like music either before I could rebel and buy a Walkman.”

“I don’t know how you could live like that,” Harry said in disbelief, not even trying to be as dramatic as he was sounding. He pushed the box close to the door and reached for another.

“It wasn’t that hard. I just did other stuff. Watched a ton of movies.”

“What’s your favourite movie?” Harry asked as he started going through the next box. This one had some stuff he actually recognized. Early Beatles, Stones, Elvis, Beach Boys, Janis Joplin, that kind of thing. Stuff that he definitely  _ would  _ want to take home with him.

Louis sucked air between his teeth. “Man, that’s a hard question. You love different movies for different reasons, you know? I mean, a lot of great movies came out when I was a teenager. John Hughes stole my heart along with every other sixteen-year-old girl.”

Harry had no idea who that was. “Yeah, totally,” he agreed anyway.

“If I asked who your favourite band was, would you have an answer?” Louis countered.

Harry thought for a moment, but couldn’t come up with a definite answer without considering another. “Touche,” he said.

Harry had been making two separate piles for the records from this box. One for the ones he might want to keep for himself, and one for the ones he thought Louis would probably want to sell. It was pretty 50/50 at the moment. Harry really had no use for any records and minimal storage space, but he’d make it work. Besides, he could probably find a used turntable for sale so he could play them. And buy some new speakers. And find somewhere to set it all up.

Or he could just hoard them in boxes for years like Louis’ dad did.

“Didn’t you say you liked Queen?” Harry said as he stared at a copy of  _ News of the World _ that’s sleeve was falling apart. In their prime, these albums definitely got their use.

“They’re good, yeah. I have a few tapes from them.”

“Well, it looks like your dad had pretty much their entire discography. You want to keep them?”

“Nah,” Louis replied quickly. “Like I said, I have the tapes. You can have them if you want.”

Harry slid them into his pile without hesitation. Honestly, he would’ve taken all six of these boxes if Louis offered them. The money in his pocket from whatever he didn’t want wouldn’t be so bad either. But they weren’t his to sell, and taking six boxes on the bus would  _ probably  _ be a pain in the ass.

“Are there any that you want to keep?”

“Which Wham! album has that George Michael song on it? I’d keep that one.”

Harry stared at him blankly. 

“Oh, “Faith”, right? I think that’s what it was called. I heard it on the radio tons.”

Louis stood to take out another box, and Harry only realized then that they were marked by year. This one read ‘‘85-’89’.

“That song won’t be on a Wham! album,” Harry explained. “It’s just a George Michael song. The album is called  _ Faith _ as well.”

“Hey, here’s a Blondie album! They’re cool, I like “Call Me”,” Louis said gleefully.

It was taking all of Harry’s anti-music-snob willpower not to say something condescending. Music taste is subjective and means nothing, but their most popular radio hit does not a band make.

“This one is Guns’ N Roses. I’ve heard stories about these guys. All those crazy tour stories. Like the Rolling Stones in the 60s but raunchier.”

What exactly was this guy’s music taste? Radio hits and whoever’s on a magazine cover? Not that Harry was one to talk, though. He wouldn’t exactly call his love of basement rock and 80s punk sophisticated, but he knew his shit when it came to the greats. Well, he knew some stuff...

He knew the important stuff, okay?

“So you want to keep all of these?” Harry asked, picking up the albums Louis had taken one look at and discarded next to the box.

“You know what, why don’t we make this easy? You go through and take what you want, then I’ll just get rid of the rest. No sense it hoarding this stuff forever, right? No one buys records anymore. Vinyl’s dead. I could probably replace this collection with CDs and it would take up half the space.”

Harry supposed he was right, and that was making him look at his stack of twenty records a lot differently.

“You hungry? I was going to make chicken salad sandwiches for lunch.”

Chicken salad? Something other than bread and cheese? It was a school lunch staple but now it sounded like a delicacy. “Sure, thanks,” Harry said.

Louis stood to head to the kitchen and get to cooking. Harry quickly went through three more boxes from the 70s and early 80s, then decided he didn’t need anymore. He narrowed down his selection to thirty, which was still a lot but not as much as he would’ve taken if he continued with the mentality of ‘take it because it’s free’. There were a couple of empty boxes sitting on an old green couch that was pushed up against the wall, so Harry took one to put his new collection in. There were some boxes empty, to begin with, so Louis’ must’ve gotten rid of some stuff already. Harry wondered what he was planning to do with the room once it was cleared out. It would make a nice office, or maybe even a guest room, he thought.

When Harry made his way back to the main part of the house, Deja had woken up from her nap and left Louis’ room with a long stretch. She rubbed the side of her face against Harry’s leg, wrapping her tail playfully around it. Harry bent down to scoop her up, and she purred as he carried her into the kitchen in his arms.

“You found her,” Louis said when he spotted Harry and the cat. He was cutting the sandwiches in half and plating them. “You know, she seems to hide from anyone who comes over except for you.”

“She can sense my love for her,” Harry said, squishing her face up to his as he scratched behind her ear. That seemed to be a little too much for her so she squirmed away and jumped from his arms. Louis slid a plate across the island towards Harry, so he took a seat at the stool.

“Looks great,” he said, then quickly realized he should probably wash his hands before digging in. Record sleeve dust was its own breed. He circled the kitchen to get to the sink.

“Find anything good?” Louis asked, leaning a hip against the counter and lifting a half to take a bite.

“Yeah, a few things,” Harry said as he dried his hands. “Are you getting rid of everything in that room?”

“Most of it, yeah. Why, did you see something you liked?”

“Nah. I mean, I didn’t really look.” He sat down and took one big bite of the sandwich. “This is really good,” he said.

“I wasn’t sure if I should try to sell some of it or just donate it all to save time.”

“You might be able to get some money off it,” Harry suggested, forgetting he should probably swallow his food before he started talking.

“We’ll see if I even get the time.” He shook his head, then turned around to fill a glass with water from the tap. 

Louis already got a glass of water filled for Harry, having placed it next to his plate on the island. The care he put into something as simple as a quick lunch was something Harry wasn’t used to, but it was pleasant to see. As he watched him, and an idea suddenly sparked in Harry’s mind

“What are you doing Saturday night?” he asked, but continued before Louis could answer. “We’re playing this gig at Katzman Theatre, opening for Sweet Water since the other opener backed out. It’s kind of our first big show. If you wanted to come, I mean, you can.”

Harry didn’t know why he felt so weird about asking. It wasn’t that Louis didn’t fit in with his friends. Sometimes he seemed like he fit in better than Harry did. He just didn’t want Louis to feel obligated to go, he supposed. He didn’t  _ do  _ music, after all.

Even though he had a six-box record collection in his house.

“Oh, well, congrats on the gig!” Louis said genuinely. “I would love to be there to support you guys, but I picked up an extra shift on Saturday. If I would’ve known I–”

“It’s okay! Don’t worry about it,” Harry quickly told him. “You can come to the next one. I mean, if we don’t bomb it this time around and lose our chances to ever get booked again.”

Louis looked at him with a knowing smile. “You’re going to kill it,” he said. “In a good way.”

“I hope so,” Harry sighed. He was more nervous about Saturday than he’d like to admit. That was a problem for later, though.

“Finish your sandwich,” Louis said, picking up the rest of his own second half and dropping the plate in the sink. “I’ll drop you off at rehearsal.”

“You can stay and watch, if you want,” Harry offered. “That way you won’t miss out on Saturday. You’ll be our practice audience.”

Louis pouted his bottom lip in thought, quite liking the sound of that idea.

“I’ll grab my keys.”


	9. Chapter 9

It was later, and Harry was a nervous wreck.

Having an actual dressing room was undoubtedly the coolest thing about getting a gig like this.  At least, that’s what the band thought before they went out on stage. With those too-soft couches, dim lighting, and walls covered in autographs and slightly vulgar language from everyone who had played the venue. A dressing room was also the perfect place to realize holy _fuck_ you’re about to play in front of almost two thousand people when you’ve barely played in front of fifty. Why did they think they were prepared for this? There was no way they were prepared for this! One week to practice and one lousy sound check that could barely qualify as a rehearsal. What about lighting? The tech guys claimed they would take care of it but they didn’t know their songs!

Harry told himself he wasn’t going to party until after the show for a proper celebration, but he needed to calm his nerves a bit. He poured a shot’s worth of vodka into the bottom of a plastic cup and downed it all at once.

Liam was standing right next to him in front of the food table,  drinking a grape soda as per request when they found out they could actually _request_ what they wanted in their dressing room.

“You okay?” he asked, taking a slow sip from his straw out of the corner of his mouth.

“Are you not freaking out just a little?” Harry said, his eyes wide because he was definitely freaking out.

Liam shrugged. “I don’t get a spotlight. I just need to keep time.”

Fair point, Harry thought, though he could give himself a little more credit. He’d never been so jealous of a drummer before. Instead of reaching for more vodka, he took a can of grape soda as well. For some reason, it seemed like it would help out much more than liquid confidence. It tasted like pure sugar and artificial flavour, which was great because that was about fifty percent of Harry’s palate.

“Want some Dunkaroos?” Liam offered, holding out the box that was already half empty. 

Was this dressing room stocked by their mothers on the first day of school?

“Absolutely,” Harry said. They were even the kind with rainbow sprinkles, which was definitely a bonus. He ripped it open and picked out a cookie to scoop with.

“Why don’t you take a walk?” Wren suggested. “Go outside and have a smoke or something.”

Harry shook his head. “Had two already,” he said. That reminded him, his journey to quitting was not going well at the moment.

The stage manager knocked on their door to let them know they had to be side stage in five minutes. That sent another swarm of butterflies through Harry’s stomach. They must’ve been making their way around the room because Niall was next to take a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Five minutes!” Niall said in surprise, wiping his sweaty hands on his thighs. “Okay, five more minutes. We got this.”

“You’re nervous too?” Wren looked at him, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. She had her guitar rested casually in her lap. By far, she was acting the most relaxed out of them all.

“This is a valid thing to be nervous about,” Niall reasoned. “There are a lot of people out there!”

“You can’t see past the first five rows. It’s going to look like a sea of shadows, man. Way less nerve-wracking when you’re actually up there,” she told him.

Liam looked at her curiously. “You’ve played in front of a crowd like this?”

“I mean, I was in my high school’s production of _Macbeth_ in junior year. Basically the same thing,” she shrugged.

“Who’d you play?” Harry asked.

“Lady Macbeth.”

Made sense, Harry thought.

“Four minutes!” Niall said, looking at the clock next to the door. “Just four more minutes. We got this.”

“Stop saying that!” Harry exclaimed in frustration. It really was not helping. In fact, it was making the stress about a thousand times worse.

“I have a better idea.” Wren stood up, biting her pick between her teeth as she fixed her guitar strap. “Let’s just go wait out there now. Save the suspense.”

Niall looked panicked. “But I–”

“Three minutes!” Wren said in a mocking tone. “Just three more minutes!”

“Can I bring this on stage?” Liam asked, holding up his grape soda. 

“Bring whatever you want.” Wren grabbed the door handle and yanked it open, the others finally seeming to follow suit. “Let’s go make that stage our bitch!”

“Yeah!” the others cheered in unison, Niall a bit more sheepishly.

At least they could pretend they were confident.

Wren was right about the sea of shadows. What she failed to mention was the fact that the cheers still sounded like they were coming from almost two thousand people. It was no secret they were playing to a full house, but Sweet Water were the ones bringing in the crowd. From the concerts he’d attended, Harry learned that the way to pump the crowd up tended to be naming the headliner between songs, and that was the method Wren knew to take. 

Wren was good at talking to the crowd. She was charming and funny and knew all the right things to say, like she was born to front a band. Even Niall would admit that she was the perfect replacement. He was perfectly fine standing on the right side of the stage with his bass. In fact, he was much happier that way.

They played eight songs, which at first felt like more than enough, but halfway through, Harry’s adrenaline was pumping. It was a quick shift from the nervous energy he brought with him onto that stage. Once he started playing, like _really_ getting into it, all those nerves began to fade. As a whole, it was a pretty average performance, but they were aiming for average because it was better than poor. Harry kind of felt like he was killing it, too. He was interacting with the Sweet Water fans upfront and with Niall every time they crossed paths. When she didn’t have her guitar, Wren would stop next to him to rest an arm on his shoulder as she belted out a note. Being the cause of the mosh pit felt even cooler than being in the middle of one.

They weren’t anything special—not yet, anyway—but Cherry Pez were actually starting to feel like a real band.

“Holy shit!” Wren cheered as they ran off stage and handed off their instruments to the tech guys. Hopefully those guitars would end up back in their dressing room. “Did we really just do that?”

“We really just did that!” Niall exclaimed, pulling them all into a group hug. Liam almost spilled the rest of his second grape soda in the process, but he squeezed them all just as tight.

“Clear the way!” someone shouted, and their moment was quickly being ruined by a group of roadies running past to clear the stage for the headliner. Within a minute, all of their equipment was backstage and the crowd had gone back to chatting and racing to the back bar to get another drink before Sweet Water came out.

But, _holy shit_ , they really just did that.

Cherry Pez gathered back in their dressing room with towels to wipe their sweat and bottles of water to chug. Were theatre stage lights hotter than club stage lights? Or maybe it was just the nervous sweat that never really went away. Harry pulled his shirt from his chest and waved it a few times. Now was probably a good time for that second shot.

“I feel like I’m on a fucking high, man,” Harry said, pacing the room. There was no way he’d be able to sit down after that. He wanted to go back out there and play a longer set. Hear all those screams from the crowd and think about what it would be like when they were screaming the words Cherry Pez’s songs. “Liam, pass me another one of those grape sodas.”

Liam took one from the bowl of ice and lightly tossed it across the room. “I’m taking the leftovers home with me,” he said, just so everyone was aware.

“I’m pretty sure we killed that,” Wren said, a wide grin on her face as she stretched her arms behind her head. She still looked like she couldn’t believe what just happened.

“ _You_ killed that,” Niall said, joining her on the couch. “We would’ve been shit out there if it wasn’t for you.”

“He’s right. You totally changed our sound for the better,” Harry added.

“Aw, thanks, guys.” She hit Niall lovingly in the shoulder. “I mean, it’s a group effort, but–”

“Stop being so modest and just admit you’re the best member of Cherry Pez,” Liam said loudly, earning laughs from them all, but he was only half kidding. They were all good in their own right. Wren was just great.

“Hey,” Harry nudged him, holding up the can of grape soda he was drinking, “do you think vodka would be good with this?”

Before he could get an answer, there was a knock at the door and a head peeking around the corner. As the door opened wider, a kid, maybe nineteen years old, walked in with a wide grin. He had long choppy blonde hair and his The Clash band tee was tucked into the front of his jeans. “Cherry Pez, right? Do you guys have a minute?”

Niall stood up, looking the kid up and down. “Uh, who are you?” he asked.

“Oh, sorry!” The boy tucked the pen and notebook he was holding under his arm so he could shake Niall’s hand. “My name is Cameron Miller and I work for a fanzine called Applause. I mean, I’m also studying at Washington State to become a real journalist, but this fanzine actually–” He was rambling nervously, but Niall was already nodding in understanding.

“We’ve heard of Applause,” he said, cutting Cameron off. “Actually, a review from you guys is how we got this gig. So, uh, thanks, I guess.”

Cameron looked pleased to hear that. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I was hoping we could get an interview for the fanzine.”

“Of course!” Wren quickly said, not giving Niall a chance to be wishy-washy about his decision. While Niall was the logical type, Wren was very adamant about seizing every opportunity for them. “Come sit down. Want something to drink? We got beer, vodka–”

“I’m not twenty-one,” Cameron said sheepishly, finding a spot to sit on the couch.

“I won’t tell your parents,” Wren joked, but handed him a grape soda anyway. The stash Liam wanted to take home was getting smaller and smaller, and he wasn’t looking too impressed.

The rest of them gathered around to talk while Cameron collected his notes. An interview wasn’t something they had ever prepared for. It wasn’t exactly at the top of their priority list, but they supposed it was something they were going to have to do eventually if they kept going with this. As for specific answers, they were just going to have to wing it.

“We’ve never done one of these before,” Liam mentioned just before they began.

Harry shot him a look. “Don’t say that,” he whispered through gritted teeth.

“We haven’t, though!”

“You’re making us sound like amateurs!”

“I’ve never actually conducted one either,” Cameron laughed awkwardly. “We’re all newbies here.”

“Interview virgins,” Niall nodded slowly. 

Wren hit him in the arm. 

“What?!”

“Don’t be gross!”

“Mind if I record this?” Cameron asked, thankfully moving on from the subject. “It’s easier to make sure I get your exact words this way.”

“Sure,” Wren said, crossing his legs as she settled into her seat. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

So Cameron asked the questions he had prepared, and Cherry Pez gave him their scatter-brained, half-assed answers. It was pretty standard stuff. “How long have you guys been a band?” “What’s your songwriting process like?” “Where did you name come from?” (Apparently, it was a movie reference, something Harry never knew. He just thought it sounded cool.) To close, Cameron wanted to know where he could send readers to buy their album.

“Uhh…” Niall stuttered, looking around the room. “We haven’t recorded one yet.”

“We don’t even have a demo with our current lead singer on it,” Harry told him.

“But it’s coming,” Wren quickly said to save the rest of their asses. “We’re actually recording it this week. It’ll be an EP, so we can sell it at our shows.”

“Which we’re hoping there will be many more of,” Niall added, despite the knowledge that they didn’t have any other gigs booked after this.

But this was good. A review, a big show, and an interview all in one week? That was a good hunk of promo to get their name out there. It was encouraging, too. People actually liked their band. Or maybe they were just lucky, but at least _some_ people had to like them.

That being said, luck was only going to stay by their side for so long.

“It was really great meeting you guys!” Cameron said in closing about twenty minutes later. He managed to stay quite professional for a kid conducting his first interview. Honestly, he probably did better on his end than they did on theirs. As he collected his belongings, Wren stood up to escort him to the door, joking with him in the way there. When she opened it, a familiar face was on the other side, his fist raised like he was about to knock.

“Louis?” Wren said in surprise. 

Cameron slipped past him as he said goodbye, probably hoping to get an interview with Sweet Water next. Those young music journalists could be quite ambitious.

“Hey, sorry! I would’ve made it earlier but the guard at the back entrance wouldn’t let anyone in without a pass. I had to go around to the front and they had to confirm with someone else that I was on the list. Zayn’s here too, but he brought a date and it seemed like it was not going well so he told me he’d catch up with you guys later. Saves him from the awkward friend meeting. But I saw your set and it was great!”

Harry was still giving him an odd look. He was glad to see Louis could make it, but confused at the same time. “I thought you said you worked tonight?”

Wren pulled Louis into the room so he wasn’t standing in the doorway anymore. He was wearing plaid under a denim jacket rather than the sport coat Harry was used to seeing him in at work. It helped him look the part for hanging around a place like this.

“Our act cancelled last minute so I didn’t have to go in.” Now Louis looked confused. “Did you not know I was coming? Zayn told me he called Liam.”

All heads turned to Liam, who widened his eyes. “Right! Harry, Louis might come to the show so Zayn told me to put his name on the list.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Harry said sarcastically.

“Is this okay?” Louis glanced around the room, suddenly feeling awkward about the whole situation.

“Hell yeah!” Wren said excitedly. “We were just hanging out until Sweet Water went on, then we were going to watch from side stage. Want a drink or something? I think there’s a box of Dunkaroos somewhere if you’re hungry.” Always the courteous host, Wren was. Unless you were showing up to her apartment unannounced. Cake helped warm her up to the idea pretty fast that night, though.

Louis sat in the spot next to Harry on the couch since it was the only one left and he felt awkward standing. Louis smiled at him timidly before realizing Wren was handing him a beer.

“You know, I was thinking for “Charmer”, if we up the tempo at the bridge then maybe…” Niall started, looking at Liam more than anyone. Wren was also paying close attention, but Harry lost interest when Louis turned to him.

“I’m quite impressed,” Louis said, putting his unopened can on the table in front of him instead of drinking it. “You guys managed to pull together a pretty good show for having a week’s notice and no experience with any stage that isn’t in a bar or club.”

“Thank you?” Harry said, questioning his gratitude.

“It’s a compliment,” Louis assured.

The other three seemed to be off in their old world completely. Or maybe it was the other way around. Harry didn’t mind leaving them to discuss without him. He could always get filled in on the details later.

“Oh, I brought you a gift, sort of. It was supposed to be a good luck token, but I guess I’m a little late for that.” Louis pulled out something small and tucked into a grocery bag from his pocket to hand to Harry. “Sorry it’s not wrapped better.”

Harry pulled it out from the bag and instantly let out a laugh. “A Scooby-Doo Pez dispenser,” he said, shaking his head.

“I saw it when I was getting groceries and it reminded me of you. Filled it with the cherry kind and everything.”

“You and your thoughtful gifts.” Harry pushed back the top and pulled one of the candies out to eat. Josie was right, strawberry was better, but he appreciated the sentiment more. “I’ll keep it in my guitar case for good luck.”

Louis smiled, but he still didn’t look totally comfortable hanging out back here with everyone. Harry wasn’t about to ignore him for the band now, so he tried to make conversation until it was showtime.

“When’s the last time you saw a show like this?” Harry wondered.

He was still pretty foggy about where Louis stood with music and concerts and the like—the only things Harry considered to actually be important in his own life. Sometimes Louis talked like he’d never turned on a radio in his life, and sometimes he actually seemed to know his shit.

“This isn’t so different from a drag show and I see those once a month, usually.”

There hadn’t been any weeknight drag shows since Harry started working, so he was still yet to see one himself. Although, he couldn’t imagine that this would be similar to a drag show. No one was up there in a dress, though that would be an interesting stage wardrobe choice.

“What makes it like a drag show?” he asked.

“Same intimate crowd, I guess. Rowdy fans that want to be part of the show. Audience members crowd surfing is basically like giving a drag queen a big tip. You’re doing it for the attention on yourself more than anything.”

Harry nodded along, pretending like he knew what Louis was talking about. It was a skill he was becoming quite proficient at in a lot of his general interactions.

“I’ll have to see a drag show one of these days,” he said passively, taking another sip of his drink. Liam had the right idea about asking for this. Grape soda was going to have to become their brown M&Ms.

Louis raised his eyebrows. “You want to go to a drag show?”

“Why not?” Harry shrugged.

“Alright, I’ll bring you along sometime. Zayn and I will show you what a fun night out at a gay bar is really like when you don’t have to work through it.”

“Sure,” he said, still not fully aware of what he was agreeing to.

“You’d do well at a drag show, you know,” Louis said, waving a finger at him.

“What does that mean?” Harry wanted to know, but before he could get an answer, they were being told that Sweet Water were about to start. If they wanted to watch, they could head to side stage at any time. Since they had nowhere else to be, they collected themselves and decided to head out there right away.

“You going to bring that?” Harry asked, pointing to the unopened beer that Louis had abandoned on the table.

“Nah, I gotta drive home. Not gonna drink tonight.”

“I got something better for you, then.” Harry crossed the room while the others were headed towards the door. He grabbed the last grape soda from the dish of ice. Liam definitely noticed because he shot Harry a glare.

“I haven’t had this since middle school, I don’t think,” Louis said as he took the can from Harry, who he then noticed was drinking the same thing. “Is it still as good as it is when you’re thirteen?”

“Tastes like liquid sugar,” Harry replied. “So, yes.”

As they left the room, Liam took the rest of the Dunkaroos for the road.

Watching from behind the curtain, Harry understood more what Wren meant when she said it was a lot like a high school play. The stage was very similar, mostly in how small it was and the sectioned curtains that made running around backstage a little more organized. 

Harry had also been in a play in high school. He was an extra in _West Side Story_ and was more than happy to not have to play a more important character. The only reason he auditioned was to get closer to a girl who was playing Anita. Playing the guy she was dating would’ve been okay too, if he could actually act worth shit. Instead, he ended up spending most of those four months hanging out with Mason, one of the guys in charge of the props, and forgot about the girl he had a crush on altogether. Mason’s friendship was a pretty good alternative, though. Since Harry had very little to do outside of group dance rehearsals, most of his time after school was spent painting with this guy who he had grown quite fond of. They hadn’t talked much since the play ended even though they always meant to get together outside of school, but they still greeted each other in the hallway and signed each other’s yearbook. He wondered what Mason was up to now...

“They’re pretty good,” Louis said just a song finished. He leaned closer into Harry so he could hear him.

“Hm?”

“Sweet Water. The band we’re watching,” he clarified bluntly because Harry was not paying attention. His mind had gotten lost in the memories of his brief time as a theatre kid in high school.

“Right, yeah. They’re sick,” he said, joining in on the applause. 

“Maybe I’ll buy their album after the show,” Louis continued. Harry looked at him to see the joking smile on his face.

“You can’t buy their album before you buy ours!” Harry teased.

“You better get on making one, then!”

He had a point there.

The five of them were trying to stay relatively out of the way. They had formed a bar table situation around a tall standing case they were resting their plastic cups on. Backstage was an interesting view. You saw everything going on on-stage, but also got to see the faces of the fans. Now that he wasn’t the one on stage, that was something Harry felt like he could pay more attention to. How excited they looked, their mouths moving as they sang along. Heads bobbing and bodies totally energized as they rocked out to the music. This was a room it was impossible to be bored in.

During a slow song, Harry noticed Wren was using Liam’s shoulder as a pillow. Since she joined, they had all gotten a lot closer as a band. She was making them feel more like a family. But seeing Niall standing alone, only a few inches away from them, Harry realized that his girlfriend never made it. She used to come to their bar gigs all the time, but their first big show and she wasn’t even here. He wondered if he should ask Niall about it.

Louis was still standing next to Harry, their shoulders overlapping as they had their arms rested on the case-slash-table in front of them. Harry was fiddling with the tab on his empty can when he turned to look at him.

“It’s really cool that you decided to come,” Harry said to him. “It means a lot.”

“Of course! I’ve gotta support my friends,” Louis grinned.

“How come I didn’t see you out there when we were playing? You should’ve pushed your way to the front row,” he joked.

Louis shrugged. “Guess I was hiding at the back. But I definitely saw you.”

He turned his attention back to the show, but Harry watched him a second longer. When realized he was staring, he quickly brought his eyes away because he didn’t want to be weird. But then he smiled a little to himself.

This was a good fucking night Harry thought. He was feeling on top of the world, and all of his friends were up there with him.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry needed to get his license. Relying on his friends to get around was making his life much more difficult than it needed to be. Public transportation was fine, but not very handy when you get off work at three in the morning.

He supposed he could get a different job, but he didn’t like that option.

That being said, getting a licence also required getting a car so he could actually put that licence to use. There was the band van, he supposed, but Niall had pretty much adopted it as his own. If he managed to keep his job, Harry could probably afford something cheap and used within the next couple of months. There was gas, but the bus would still always be there if he was getting desperate. Like it was now, pulling up slowly to the stop he was waiting at to head to work. Harry stomped out the cigarette he was smoking as he fished for fare in his pocket.

Quitting smoking was next on his list. He was cutting back!

Now that he was settled into his new place, Harry was trying to fit some sort of routine into his life. Band practice was nearly every day now, usually sometime in the late afternoon just after Wren and Niall finished work and before Harry had to leave for it. Liam’s schedule was pretty flexible, so he just worked when he didn’t have to be in his basement playing.

Liam’s job was pretty convenient for Harry’s schedule, actually. On the days when he needed to head home after work but didn’t feel like bugging Zayn or Louis for a ride, chances were, Liam was out somewhere on the road. He still paid him for the ride, of course, but Liam never accepted tips from a friend. “Just buy me a coffee,” he’d say instead. Sometimes that led to them sitting in a parking lot, listening to the radio and drinking gas station coffee until five in the morning. They had some good conversations in that cab. They were some of the few times Harry and Liam really got a chance to hang out alone.

But those nights were becoming seldom. Louis was starting to offer Harry a ride home almost every night. Harry appreciated it, but he also felt bad about putting him out. It was out of the way for Louis to drive him home, no matter how many times he ensured that he really didn’t mind. “I wouldn’t be offering if I didn’t want to!” But Harry felt bad, so sometimes he went with Zayn and sometimes he called Liam. But most nights, Louis still drove him home.

Harry got into work before Zayn tonight, which was a rare occurrence. He wasn’t usually late anymore, so he definitely felt he deserved a pat on the back for that one. Slipping in through the front door, he decided to hang up his coat and get himself settled before saying hi to Louis and setting up for the night. Louis was always at the bar long before anyone else and went home long after they left. For his sake, Harry hoped he was at least making good money with the number of hours he put in at this place.

As he walked past the basket in the back room that held all their tip cups, Harry checked his for the note he knew would be waiting for him. It was usually a drawing or an inside joke between the two of them. They had never discussed the notes out loud, even on their many drives after work, but Harry knew that they were always from Louis. This time, he had drawn a little cartoon fish swimming around underwater. His drawings were always far better than Harry’s which was why he often resorted to jokes.

_What’s the difference between a guitar and a fish? You can’t tuna fish!_

That was what he wrote on the back of the drawing, then left it in Louis’ cup to find. He hoped they made him smile, or at least pity-laugh.

Louis had to stay a bit later after work to finish up with the paperwork for the week, so Zayn offered to give Harry a ride. No matter how many times he said he didn’t mind it, Harry could still see it in his tired eyes that he just wanted to go home and go to bed, but he didn’t say that because he was a good friend. Trying to be, at least. They peeked into Louis’ office to say their usual goodbyes. Louis smiled when he said it, but he still looked stressed as he went over all the numbers for the day. Harry did not envy his job.

On Friday, Cherry Pez had rehearsal all day. Saturday was to be their first day in an actual recording studio—something that Wren set up and no one else seemed to know much about— so they decided to take advantage of the day before to practice as much as they could. Not wasting studio time was a huge priority. But because their eight hours of practice started early, Harry and Wren ended up back home around six. Harry was pretty excited to spend the evening sitting on the couch watching _The Simpsons_ and eating a takeout burrito. Wren said she had plans, so that gave Harry the living room to himself. He was not complaining.

In fact, Harry didn’t see Wren again until the next afternoon, when he found himself back on the couch, this time with a plate of toast and watching Saturday morning cartoons. _Looney Tunes_ never gets old no matter how old you get. He had his legs stretched onto the coffee table and his head buried in the back of the couch cushions. Fully dressed and with her hair done, Wren came marching in the kitchen on the hunt for her keys.

“Where are you going?” Harry wondered. They didn’t have to leave for the studio until later tonight, and she didn’t work today. Being out of her room for anything other than food this early was more than just an odd occurrence.

“I have a date,” she said, her voice catching as she grabbed her jacket off a dining room chair.

“In the morning?”

“It’s noon.”

He stretched his neck to look at the time on the microwave. So it was.

“It’s a lunch date with this girl I met through a work friend. No big deal.”

So this was the one thing that made Wren nervous. She practically spewed confidence that bordered on arrogance, except when it came to her love life. Her voice and demeanor were giving off the opposite of ‘no big deal’. Not to mention, she was looking pretty hot for this girl.

“What’s her name?” Harry asked.

“I’ll tell you if it gets serious enough that you need to know,” she said, opening the front door.

“Okay, have fun, honey! Be home by eleven and use protection!” Harry called after her.

Wren held up her middle finger on the way out.

This meant Harry had the afternoon to himself and no plans to fill them with.

That was around the time Louis got the phone call. He was sat in the middle of his spare room, a mess of open boxes and his father’s useless belongings around him. The sound could only barely be heard over the radio he had blasting. That’s right, actual music was playing in his apartment and Harry wasn’t the one who put it on. Louis had to pull himself out of his disaster and dodge the obstacle course of _crap_ that still needed to be tended to so he could race to the kitchen before the last ring.

His entire apartment had been torn apart from his attempt at a cleaning day. He took out everything from his fridge and scrubbed it clean, then did the same to the floors after he finished a quick dusting. Deja had taken refuge under Louis’ bed in the meantime, but she’d be running for her life as soon as he brought the vacuum out to do the carpet in there. 

As he bolted across the hardwood floor in his sock feet, Louis found himself sliding a little further than intended. With one hand he grabbed the counter for support so he wouldn’t tumble over, and with the other, he lifted the receiver to his ear.

“Hi! Hello,” he said breathlessly until he was standing up straight and could properly focus.

“Uh, hi… Is everything okay?”

Louis forgot to check the caller ID but recognized the voice as Harry's.

“I’m fine!” Louis insisted brightly, then had to cough to fix how high-pitched his tone had gotten. “Yeah, I’m just, uh… tidying up. Yeah.”

“Are you really busy?” Harry wondered. “Wren’s gone for a bit, so if you wanted to, like, come over and hang out, that would be cool.”

Louis took a look around his apartment. All that _stuff_ was pouring out of the spare room at the end of the hall, his dining room chairs were still on top of his table from mopping, the carpet was rolled up in the corner, and bags of trash and recycling were sitting next to his front door. He hadn’t even gotten to cleaning the bathroom yet.

“Nah, I’m not busy,” Louis said. “I’ll be right over.”

Once he hung up the phone, Harry realized he probably should tidy the place up before Louis got there. The dishes hadn’t been done in about three days and a certain smell was starting to take over the kitchen. He couldn’t place it exactly, but it might’ve been associated with the dried ketchup on the edge of a few plates.

The knock on the door came just as Harry was putting the last of the cutlery back in the drawer. He slammed the drawer shut and bolted to the coffee table so he could quickly clear the garbage, shoving it all into the bin on his way to answer the door. Casual as ever. It would’ve been even better if he remembered to get dressed first. But Louis didn’t even notice. Or if he did, he didn’t bother saying anything. 

Harry realized pretty quick that he didn’t actually think of anything for them to do. He was just looking to hang out with someone who would alleviate his boredom, and lately, Louis was someone whose company he very much enjoyed. So he suggested they play the Nintendo and, after a quick escape so Harry could put on some proper pants, the couch was where they found themselves with controllers in their hands.

Louis also brought over a tray with two to-go cups of coffee on it, which wasn’t weird, per se, Harry just wasn’t used to friends like this. Ones who acted so, for a lack of better words, adult. But he kind of liked it. And even though Louis was a proper adult with a capital ‘P’ in most cases, he was still perfectly fine with wasting an afternoon playing video games with a friend.

“So most of what you’re going to record tonight are songs Wren wrote?” Louis asked after Harry had explained that they were finally going to record a demo. They wanted to get five songs put together at the very least. With the amount they had been rehearsing, they were hoping to get it done all in one night. Besides, this was a demo tape, not a whole album.

“A couple are Wren’s. Niall and I had written a few together before she joined, and she and I have written a few since. We want to use the ones that best showcase our sounds blended together.”

“What kinds of things do you write about? The lyrics, I mean.”

“Well, Niall writes love songs about his girlfriend. Wren writes breakup songs about her exes.”

“What do _you_ write about, though?”

That stumped Harry. He thought about it for a moment, trying to remember his contributions. “Other people’s relationships, I guess,” he joked. “I usually build off of ideas they have, not go off of my own. I don’t really have much to write about yet.”

“You don’t have to write love songs,” Louis said.

It should be mentioned that this conversation was being had while they furiously attempted to kill one another in _Street_ _Fighter_. Harry would like to think he was winning, but they were both so bad that it was a pretty fair fight.

“Yeah, I’m definitely not writing any love songs any time soon.”

“You could write a love song about being lonely,” Louis suggested. “A lack of love.”

“I’m not lonely,” Harry said, more defensively than he intended to. “It’s never really been an important part of my life, that’s all.”

“No?” Louis raised an eyebrow. He had just won the fight, so they let the game sit on the menu screen while they continued talking.

“I’ve always gone with the idea that if I meet someone I connect with, great. I’m just not going to go out searching for someone. If you’re going to be in a relationship, it should be because you want to be with that specific person, not because you just want to be in a relationship.”

Louis nodded along. “That’s a good way to look at it.” Then he started thinking about it too much and didn’t like where his head was going. “Maybe you just need to get laid,” he said, mostly joking. “Get yourself a one night stand.”

“Definitely not,” Harry immediately protested. “You don’t know what a stranger is into, or what they have.”

“That’s why you ask first, typically. And use a condom.” Louis laughed. “I’ve never met a straight guy who was worried about STDs. Most of you have undiagnosed herpes and don’t even care.”

“Really?” Harry widened his eyes. “Is it that common?”

“Yeah,” Louis nodded slowly, giving him a curious look. “Did you take sex ed in school?”

Harry nodded, now appearing sheepish. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he wasn’t sure if he did. He was taught abstinence, that was for sure. Louis caught on to the discomfort right away.

“You’ve been tested, haven’t you?” Louis asked.

“Um…”

“You’ve never been tested?!” Louis burst. “Do you not watch the news?”

“I do! It’s just… been a while since it seemed necessary to be tested.”

“So you have been?”

Harry shook his head.

“But you’ve had sex?”

Harry nodded.

“Dude!”

“Should I head down to a clinic right now, then? Just march down there and get a spontaneous STD test?”

Louis shrugged. “Sure. Let’s go. I’m due for one soon, anyway.” He stood up to turn off the TV while Harry watched in confusion.

“I was kidding!”

“I’m not kidding. Come on, I’ll be your moral support.”

“Are you serious?”

“Did I not just say I was serious? It’s an easy test and there’s a walk-in place nearby.”

Harry knew he wasn’t going to win this argument, so he stood up to find his coat. Of course, Louis was right that he should get tested, but everything about the situation felt weird. Going with a friend, for one, and the nerves of not knowing what those results could be... Well, he _had_ to be disease-free. As he said, it had been a while and he was showing no signs of anything serious, but there were no guarantees.

 How did this turn out to be his day?

“Your leg is shaking,” Louis pointed out as they sat on the hard waiting room chairs. Harry was fully aware of his shaking leg.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, physically pushing his knee down with his palm. His eyes kept drifting around the room. The walls were a pale blue colour and decorated with sexual health posters. The kind that told you the warning signs of everything you hoped you didn’t have, but also how to put a condom on a banana.

“You don’t need to be nervous. You already know the chances that you having anything are slim to none.”

“Then why are we here?!” Harry whisper-yelled. He wasn’t angry that Louis had dragged him to this clinic, he just wasn’t planning on this added level of stress to his day.

“Because it’s important,” Louis reasoned, trying to also keep his voice down. They weren’t the only people in this waiting room. “If you have something, they can treat you, and you can know to be cautious so you don’t infect anyone else.”

“Right, with all the people I’m sleeping with on the daily,” Harry replied in a snarky tone.

“They have a bowl of free condoms at the check-in desk. Maybe you can take one to keep in your wallet for good luck.”

“Do they have Magnums?” he joked.

Louis let out a loud scoff. “That is the straightest comment I’ve ever heard you make.”

“Are they skinned _for her pleasure_ ,” he said in a mocking tone, trying to make his voice go deeper.

Louis gave him an odd look, then barked out a laugh. “Skinned? Do you mean _ribbed_?”

Harry’s chest sank in embarrassment. “Whatever,” he said, but Louis was still laughing. Harry sent him a glare, trying to hold back a laugh of his own.

So he didn’t have to look at him, Harry picked up the magazine from the table next to him and opened it so it would block his entire view. What he was not expecting was the giant breast pump ad that was now right in his face. Did he mention that this was also a family planning centre?

Harry closed the magazine and tossed it back on the table. “Are you not nervous?” he asked.

Louis had an ankle crossed over his knee, a trashy gossip magazine in his lap. Given the selection available, he had definitely made the better choice. “Yeah, but I’ve done this before,” Louis shrugged. 

“Oh, right,” Harry said, immediately regretting his tone that implied that _obviously_ Louis had been here before. 

Louis looked up at him with just his eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean- I just- You know, it’s-” Harry stammered. His face was turning bright red.

“It’s okay,” Louis assured. “You’re right, it’s a huge, terrible thing happening to the gay community, which means it greatly affects me. There’s more politics around it than I want to get into, but it’s also a stigma. It’s a disease that is affecting a lot of gay men, but it’s not ‘the gay disease’.”

“Sorry,” Harry said again, shaking his head. “I have to admit, I don’t know a lot about it. Just what the headlines read.”

“Unfortunately, you’re not the only one,” Louis sighed.

Harry’s name was called first. He went all alone into a tiny office with a nurse and answered the basic questions. It felt like an interrogation and he was sure he was going to lie without meaning to. Not that personal information and yes or no answers are something you need to lie about, but it felt like too much pressure. A poster hanging somewhere showing a banana with a condom on it would make him feel more at ease, at least.

The actual test was the easiest part. First, they took a cotton swab to the inside of his cheek, then sent him off to a one-room bathroom with a little cup to pee in. Harry’s realization that there would be no blood test was his biggest relief. At least half of his anxiety had come from his fear of needles, but that was one bullet he dodged today. This testing thing really wasn’t all that bad.

“Two to three days?!” Harry exclaimed as he and Louis walked across the parking lot to Louis’ car. “It takes two to three _days_ before we get our results back?”

“They have to send it to a lab, you know. It’s not a pH strip test in chemistry class.”

“I thought this was a quick thing. You know, just an hour of your day and you’re out of there for the next year.

Louis opened his side of the door, then pressed the button to unlock the passenger side. “It’s still pretty fast, I’d say.”

“Now I gotta worry about this for three days,” Harry grumbled as he ducked his head and tucked his legs in.

“You’ll forget about it until you get that phone call,” Louis said as he turned on the engine. He was probably right, considering how much the lack of blood test alone eased Harry’s mind. “You know you have nothing to worry about.”

Harry let his head fall back against the headrest. Maybe it was less him being afraid of the results and more his discomfort with the situation as a whole. The sooner it was all over, the sooner he could stop thinking about it. That is, until he had to go again.

As Louis backed out of the parking stall, Harry glanced at the clock on the radio. It was only five, meaning he still had a few hours before Niall was picking him up to head to the studio. He rolled his head to the side to look at Louis. 

“Want to rent a movie and bring some takeout back to my place?” he offered.

“Sure,” Louis smiled. “In the mood for a burger?”

He pulled into the Blockbuster parking lot first, neither having any clue what to actually rent. They walked slowly to the new arrivals section. Harry didn’t even remember the last time he watched a movie, never mind went to a theatre to see something new. TV shows and Christmas movies that he watched with his family didn’t count. He glanced at all of the titles placed on the shelf in alphabetical order.

“ _Beauty and the Beast_?” Harry suggested since it was the first one he saw.

“Nah, I’ve seen it,” Louis said. “Took a date to it. Bad idea.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, not sure seeing a Disney movie in a theatre full of kids really gets you in the mood.”

“What about _Reservoir Dogs_?” Louis said, picking up the case to look at the back. Harry was having instant flashbacks to Liam and Wren’s fight about the ending. He didn’t care to settle that debate.

“Why don’t we check out some of the older movies?” Harry offered instead. He remembered Louis had mentioned his affinity for anything created by John Hughes.

There were a few movies highlighted by decade in one of the centre aisles. Louis spotted one of his favourites and snatched it off the shelf to take a better look. “ _Ferris Bueller_ is a classic!” he exclaimed.

“I’ve actually seen that,” Harry said, to even his own surprise. “It came out when I was in my Sophomore year. I really liked it.”

“Damn right you did.” Louis took another look at the cover then put it back slowly.

“How about this one?” Harry picked up _Stand by Me_ and flipped it over to read the description on the back. He was a sucker for a good adventure story.

“Uh, I can’t really watch that movie. Bad memories,” Louis said. Harry thought he was joking until he looked up to see his solemn expression. He didn’t want to ask at risk of prying, but Louis continued anyway. “When a friend of mine was really sick in the hospital, I read that book to him. It was one of his favourites, so we actually read it a couple of times. He’s like a little brother to me, so seeing him like that was really hard.”

“When did that happen?” Harry wondered.

“Technically, it’s still happening. It’s HIV that he has. He’s out of the hospital and on great treatment, but he’s still sick. I mean, there’s no cure, so he’s just living with it until… they find a cure, hopefully.”

“That’s terrible,” Harry shook his head. “How old is he?”

“Eighteen.”

It felt like a punch to the gut to hear that. Harry may not have known a lot about the crisis, but he’d heard the numbers. He understood how massive the tragedy was on a scale. It was on the personal and individual level that he hadn’t heard much about it. It was all terrible, but to hear that it was happening to people as young as that was putting into perspective. That shouldn’t have been what it took, but the closer a tragedy hits home, the harder you feel it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you with something like that in the middle of a Blockbuster,” Louis said with an awkward laugh.

“No, it’s okay,” Harry said. It was sad, but it was real.

“Let’s make another lap. There’s gotta be something in here that looks good.”

So they strolled side-by-side around the video store, pointing out movies they didn’t really want to watch but still had something to say about. Louis had seen almost every movie, it seemed like. Harry hadn’t even heard of most of them. Eventually, they ended up back at the new arrivals section. Harry pointed out _The Addams Family_ since they were getting a little anxious to get out of there. Those burgers were sounding better and better, so they grabbed a copy and headed for the till.

As they drove back to Harry’s, a McDonald's bag in his lap which he was trying hard to resist stealing a fry from, he was still reeling from the story about Louis’ friend. He just couldn’t get it off his mind. He tried to imagine what he would have done if he had gotten news like that when he was practically still a kid. The panic and fear and confusion would be too much to bear.

Harry wanted to know more about Louis’ friend. He wanted to know his story, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he sat on his couch with a burger wrapper in the lap of his folded legs and watched a family that somehow seemed to function better than his own despite being straight out of a horror movie. He glanced at Louis next to him and realized that there was so much about his new friend that he still didn’t know. A whole story was there, and he had only entered partway through. The rest of the chapters he was being given out of order. He wanted to read them all.


	11. Chapter 11

Louis left just before Niall got there, giving Harry about ten minutes to panickedly get ready and find everything he needed to bring with him. Wren had caught a ride with Niall, so when she ran in to get changed she was able to triple-check that everything had been packed into their instrument cases. She wasn’t exactly impressed with the leftover mess from carpet picnic of burgers and fries, but Harry promised he’d clean it in the morning. Wren’s glares weren’t nearly as icy as Niall’s.

Going into this recording session, Harry had very little information about what was actually happening. He didn’t even understand how they got a recording studio for the night, to begin with. Did that not cost hundreds of dollars? Thousands? What about a producer? Hell, where even was this studio?

These were all questions Harry had as the four of them rode in the van, Niall always the one driving. Liam used to get shotgun, but Wren had a special talent for getting there first. Or being the only one to remember to call it as they approached the car.

“How much is it going to cost?” was the main question Harry had, and so did Niall and Liam once it was brought up.

“Technically, nothing, but we do all need to pitch in twenty-five bucks.”

That much, Harry could handle.

“For what?” Liam asked.

“The bribe,” Wren said, earning confused stares all around.

“Bribe?!” Niall exclaimed, looking between her and the road. “Bribing who?”

“The security guard.”

This was why they needed more information before agreeing to this. Realistically, none of them could afford to rent out a studio for a night. Not even combined. What made them think Wren’s plan to somehow get them time for free would actually work?

“Relax, he’s a friend of mine,” Wren assured them all after a series of protests. “He already knows we’re coming. He’s going to flicker all the cameras so we can get inside, and the studios don’t have cameras in them. Everything is good to go.”

“So what you’re saying is, we’re illegally breaking into a studio and using their equipment for free?” Niall clarified to make sure he wasn’t the only one who thought this idea was doomed to land them in trouble.

“No, he’s leaving the door unlocked for us.”

“Cool, yeah. That’s makes it fine then,” Niall shrugged sarcastically.

Wren pointed to the small three-story green concrete building they were approaching. “Pull over here,” she instructed. There was open parallel parking all along the street, but Niall picked a spot a couple of blocks over. They didn’t need anyone wondering why a strange van was parked out front.

They took in what they could carry—guitars and Niall’s bass, pedals to make sure they got their sound just right, and their notebooks of scribbled lyrics and messy attempts at drawing tablature. Liam wasn’t exactly thrilled about not being able to use his usual drum kit, but Wren did say there was one already there that they could use. It wasn’t the same, but at least he had his own sticks.

In the lobby, Wren quickly slipped into an office behind the desk with a wad of twenties in her hand. She was back only seconds later, looking satisfied with her success. “You all better pay me back,” she said, then lead the way down a narrow hallway.

It wasn’t like Abbey Road Studios with platinum albums and signed pictures of rock stars lining the halls. There were framed pictures of musicians, but Harry would gladly pay five bucks to anyone who could hum one of their songs by memory, or name them without looking at the label. It was definitely a small studio, but bigger than anything they could afford to record in, so who was complaining?

They had eight hours to record eight demo tracks. That was the big challenge for the night. At first, they tried to lay down one instrument at a time, attempting to mix it together with a vocal. Quickly, they discovered that the array of buttons on the mixing board meant for the producer was far more complicated than any of them could decipher, even Liam-the-sound-man. So, Wren called in her friend the-security-guard while everyone squeezed themselves up in the bathroom-sized booth. His job was only to press record, and the rest of them played through each song over and over until they were satisfied. It wasn’t professional by current standards, but they assured themselves with the idea that that was how bands used to do it. One full take over and over until they actually sounded good for three and a half minutes.

And to be honest, it was a fucking blast.

They played, they joked around, they argued, and they stressed over every detail until it was still far from perfect. That wasn’t what they were striving for. All they needed was a demo. Five songs that showcased who they were as a band, and that was what they felt they were getting.

At four in the morning with only two songs left to go, they decided to take a break. They had until eight to get out of there, but at the rate they were going, they were sure they’d have time to spare. Harry and Wren had decided to make a trip to the 24-hour store around the corner for a few snacks and something to drink. Harry imagined what it would be like when they were in a studio book specifically for them, recording their record with a real producer and mixing with all of the professional equipment. They’d probably have a snack table like they did at Katzman Theatre last weekend, with all of the grape soda and Dunkaroos their hearts desired. 

“So,” Harry began as he and Wren meandered back to the studio along the dark sidewalk, “you never told me how your date went.” He had a cigarette between his fingers and was blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth so it wouldn’t get anywhere near Wren. She never claimed that it bothered her, but people who didn’t smoke weren’t usually fans of the smell. Or the risk of second-hand smoke.

Harry swore he was gonna quit.

Wren smiled at the ground, then raised a hand to push her hair out of her face. “The date was good,” she said before biting her lips together.

“That sounds like more than just good. What, did you go to her place after and…?” He let her fill in the blank.

“No!” Wren exclaimed. “I just had a really nice time. We have a lot in common, actually. She’s really into the same music as me, but she’s studying to become an architect. For our next date, she invited me over so she could cook dinner and promised she’d show me some of her work. Actually, after lunch, we decided to go for a walk and ended up at this amazing art gallery. Then after that, we figured we'd check out the arthouse theatre because it was showing some silent films all afternoon. Then we went to dinner and talked non-stop through the whole meal.” Wren stopped there, then grinned again with a sparkle in her eye.

“Should I expect you home by eleven p.m. or a.m. after that next date?” Harry asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I hate you,” Wren laughed, lightly pushing him with her shoulder.

“Do I get to know her name now?”

“Not yet,” she said quickly, holding a finger in the air.

“What am I supposed to call her when she shows up to our next show to support you?” he asked. The suggestion alone made Wren’s face flush red.

“By the time that happens, I’m sure you’ll know,” she said. Before continuing, Wren let a beat pass. “What did you do all day?” she wondered.

“Hung out with Louis.”

“What’d you guys do?”

“Just watched a movie,” he shrugged, leaving it at that.

As they neared the studio, Harry noticed someone standing at the payphone near the front door. He put a hand out to stop Wren, hesitating because they weren’t supposed to be in this building, to begin with. Squinting closer, he realized that it was just Niall. Harry sighed in relief and kept walking, ready to greet him—until they watched him slam the phone down on the receiver and slump back onto the wall of the booth, facing away from them. His sigh and mumbled “fuck” could be heard from where Harry and Wren were standing.

“Why don’t I meet you inside?” Harry said to Wren as he stomped out the rest of his cigarette. Niall didn’t like to talk about his problems, but Harry seemed to be the one person who knew how to get through to him.

“Sure, I’ll bring these in,” she offered, taking the grocery bag of snacks from Harry’s hand. Wren gave a tight-lipped smiled as she hurried to the door, pretending she didn’t see Niall at all.

Harry walked over slowly, hands in his pockets as he got closer.

“Everything alright?” he asked, leaning a hip on the other privacy barrier. “That didn’t sound like a pleasant end to a phone call.”

“There wasn’t a pleasant beginning or middle either,” Niall said. “I figured I was the thoughtful one here, calling to make sure she got home safe from work and what happens? I get yelled at for not being there!”

“The Mrs, I assume?” Harry clarified.

“‘ _ Every weekend you’re out with your friends _ ’,” Niall mimicked her voice. “We’re recording a demo! Last weekend we were playing at the fucking Katzman Theatre! What doesn’t she get about this?”

“How often do you guys get to see each other now that she’s doing night shifts?” Harry asked. Niall’s girlfriend was a nursing assistant and recently opted to take the graveyard shift in turn for a raise. Niall was thrilled for her, but it also flipped their schedules so they were always passing each other when one was headed out the door.

“Sundays,” Niall said. “Neither of us ever have anything Sundays.”

“So you only get one day a week?”

“Sometimes we get Saturday mornings,” he defended, but his tone indicated he knew that was still not enough. “But that’s my point. I get it, okay? I get that she wants to spend more time together, but she doesn’t give a shit about this band. She thinks I’m wasting my time. Did you notice that she didn’t even come to support us last weekend?”

“I did,” Harry said guiltily. He couldn’t help but feel like some of this had to be his fault. When he lived with them, his presence alone was straining their relationship. It was another thing to connect back to the band. The reason Niall was yelling at a payphone at four in the morning.

“Can I crash with you and Wren when we’re done here?” Niall asked, but his voice was quiet and he didn’t look up at him. “She told me not to come home tonight. Besides, I’d like to be able to sleep before the argument tomorrow.”

“Of course,” Harry nodded. He did promise, after all. However, both of them were hoping Niall wouldn’t ever have to take him up on it.

Niall stared at the ground in thought, so Harry didn’t move either. He had a feeling his role as the supportive best friend wasn’t completely fulfilled yet.

“What am I supposed to do? I can’t ask her to go back to day shifts, but this band… It really feels like we might be able to get somewhere with this, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “This is the most hopeful we’ve ever been about it.”

“So I can’t give it up now,” he said in determination. “I just don’t know where that leaves us.”

Harry reached out his arm to place one hand kindly on Niall’s shoulder. He tilted his head so Niall would meet his eye. “You aren’t going to get an answer tonight, man. Look, I don’t know shit about relationships, but I do know a bit about sacrifice and compromise. Decide what’s most important to you and what lengths you would go to in order to preserve it. I think that’ll get you somewhere close to where you want to be.”

“That would be great advice if the priority part didn’t seem impossibly difficult.”

“Choices you  _ have  _ to make are never impossible. If anything, the pressure will sway you in the right direction,” Harry said with a grin. He wrapped his arm over Niall’s other shoulder and guided him away from the payphone. “Come on, everyone’s probably waiting on us.”

“Yeah,” Niall sighed, throwing his own arm over Harry’s shoulder too. 

They marched casually through the front doors like that, hoping Wren’s friend was paying attention and knew to flicker those cameras again. As they made their way down the hallway, Harry had to resist the instinctual urge to stick a foot out and trip Niall right there. The main factor stopping him was the fact that they were still linked together, so to send Niall tumbling would leave him on the ground too.

“Did you get your advice from a greeting card?” Niall asked amusedly.

Harry turned to him, offended. “What?”

“You probably heard it on a TV show or something.”

“All I watch is  _ The Simpsons _ and MTV.”

“Song lyrics?”

“Fuck off,” Harry laughed. It was nice to hear Niall laugh too.

When they returned to the studio, Wren and Liam were taking turns tossing M&Ms into each other’s mouths, which was a clear indicator that they weren’t missed  _ too  _ bad. As soon as she spotted them, Wren told Niall to think fast just before a blue one was midair from an underhand throw. Niall took one step forward, tilted his head up, and caught it directly in his mouth.

“Nice catch,” Liam praised. “Two for two?”

He tossed a yellow one with one that question as a warning. Niall caught it just as easily. Harry’s hand-eye coordination refused to allow him to participate in his game, and he wasn’t complaining. But somehow, just like that, at the sight of his friends and bandmates, Niall seemed fine again. It seemed like more than just a good act.

By six-thirty that morning, they had a full demo recorded. It was low-budget (about a hundred and ten dollars if you included snacks) and amateurish, but it was still them and it was the best they could do. Listening back to that finished product, Harry was filled with nothing but pride. Maybe a bit of relief too. It was a long night. 

Just as they were playing around with the mixing board, trying to figure out how to put on any possible finishing touches, the security guard barged in with a look of panic on his face.

“You guys need to get the hell out!” he whisper-yelled. “The manager is here and no one is scheduled to record right now. You have like two minutes; go!”

And then he was gone, and the four exchanged looks of alarm, a siren going off in each of their heads. Niall jumped up first, heading straight for the guitars while Wren collected the pages of lyrics that had scattered across the studio. Harry grabbed all the cases that they left by the doors and got them open so he could put each one away as they were handed to him. Liam, their assigned producer for the day, was doing everything in his power to finalize the mixing so they could just grab the tape and get out of there. Once everything they brought was piled at the door, they all turned to Liam.

“Let’s go!” Wren stressed, her hand on the door handle. “Just take the tape and we’ll work with what he have.”

“I can’t,” Liam said, pressing eject for the tenth time. “Something is jammed.”

Harry set down his case and ran over to help. He pressed eject again, as if he had some magic touch that would miraculously make it work. They really did not have time to be doing this, but they couldn’t sacrifice a whole night of hard work because of a jammed machine.

“Take the cases out to the van. We’ll meet you there,” Harry said, trying now to pry the plastic cover off with his fingers.

Niall and Wren didn’t hesitate to grab everything that they brought along with them to get the hell out of there. It was a struggle to carry six instruments in four hands, but once they got themselves situated, they made a run for it.

For once, it wasn’t technology that wasn’t on their side, it was simple mechanics. They tried hitting eject again, but the damn thing wouldn’t budge. They were really on a time crunch now, and Harry swore he could hear approaching footsteps. Liam jumped up to turn off the light so no one walking by could see there was anyone in the studio.

“Hand me that pen,” Harry said, pointing to the one across the mixing board. Liam grabbed it and watched as Harry used the narrower end to pry into the gap between the plastic.

“Don’t break it!” Liam warned. “We cannot afford to replace that.”

“Do you want this tape or not? Besides, we were never here, remember?”

Once he got the plastic lifted high enough, he used the tip of his finger for leverage to try to pull it right off. The damn thing was tough, so Liam added his strength as well. Eventually, they heard a snap and their demo nearly fell to the ground. Luckily, Harry had quick reflexes, so he stuck it in his pocket and practically pushed Liam out the door, leaving the rest of the room as-is. 

They peeked around the hallway slowly and pulled up the hoods on their jackets. There were still security cameras around this place, and they didn’t know whether or not they were turned off like they had been when they first arrived. If they could at least hide their faces, they’d be in the clear. At the far end of the hallway, near the front desk where the security guard sat, they saw a man in a suit leaned against the wall with his back turned to them.

“Shit!” Liam whispered. “We have to go out the back door.”

“Just run,” Harry said, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a sprint.

The studio was more or less just one hallway in the shape of a T, but they knew the sound of their feet pounding on the hard carpet was far from sneaky. Harry spotted one door without a window unlike the rest of the studio rooms and threw it open.

“It’s a bathroom!” Liam burst, as if it wasn’t plainly obvious based on the single sink and toilet in the room. But they were already inside, and couldn’t exactly turn around now. If someone was behind them, they’d be knocking right into them as soon as they opened that door.

Instead, Harry turned around and locked it before making a beeline for the window. “Give me a boost,” he said, and Liam didn’t question it. He squatted down and used his clasped hands as a step so Harry could hop up and reach for the lever to get the window open.

A harsh knock banged on the door followed by, “Is anyone in there?”

“Occupied!” Liam called out. 

Harry just about kicked him in the face from where he was standing. “What are you  _ doing _ ?!” he whisper-yelled.

“They won’t come in if it’s occupied!” Liam retorted in the same tone

“That wasn’t some friendly person hoping to use the bathroom. They’re looking for us!”

The knock sounded again. “Who’s in here?”

“Shit!” they both said in unison, scrambling as the doorknob rattled.

Harry squeezed his way through the narrow opening and reached down for Liam’s arm. As soon as Liam could pull himself up, Harry hopped onto the grass and started running, looking over his shoulder to make sure Liam was still on his trail. The van was parked two blocks away, so that’s where he was headed. 

By the time they reached the right street, it didn’t seem like they were being followed anymore, but Wren still opened the back so they could jump inside like a couple of fugitives, and Niall-the-getaway-driver sped away as fast as the old van would allow.

“Did anyone see you?” Wren asked.

“Not our faces,” Harry said breathlessly. As long as they were out of there now, he didn’t care.

“Did you get the tape?” Niall looked at them through the rearview mirror.

Harry reached into his pocket for it, but his hand was touching nothing but lint. In a panic, he checked his other pocket too, then the ones inside his jacket even though he knew he didn’t put it in there. “Fuck!” he exclaimed. “I must’ve dropped it in that fucking bathroom.”

“In the grass, actually,” Liam said, tossing the tape into his lap. “You’re lucky I have a good eye.”

They all let out a collective sigh of relief. So Harry and Liam both did a dumb thing today. Now they were even.

Wren snatched the tape from Harry’s hand before he could even take a good look at it.

“I’ll be holding onto this,” she said. “We need to get this bad boy converted to CDs for distribution.” She twirled it in the air with a smile. “Don’t worry, I know a guy.”

 

Niall slept on Harry and Wren’s couch for five hours before forcing himself to go home, where his girlfriend would be waiting by the door for the inevitable fight. Now that they each had a full night to sleep on it, their respective arguments would be polished with few obvious flaws. That was the worst kind of fight. Harry was glad he was no longer there to listen from the other room like an impending child of divorce. He did tell Niall to call him afterward if he needed anything, though. While he didn’t say it directly, Harry wanted to know if he needed to make the couch up again for tonight.

Harry woke up just before he left, long enough that they could have a quick coffee together and Niall could air his grievances once more. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing to her, but he didn’t want to be a pushover, either. That was something he was infamous for in her personal life. Professional, not as much.

Once Niall was out the door, Harry poured himself a bowl of cereal and slid himself onto the counter, twisting on the radio to the only station they ever played in this place. He listened to Kurt Cobain’s raspy voice singing the end of “Dumb” followed by a radio announcer cutting in with a weather update. It would be quite warm and sunny today, which was a nice change for winter. It made him actually want to do something leisurely with his day, for once. Something that didn’t include a TV screen, preferably. But Harry’s pleasant thoughts were soon interrupted by a phone call which he answered quickly so it wouldn’t wake up Wren.

The greeting was followed by a request to speak with Harry, his full name being used. Almost never a good sign.

“This is, uh, he,” Harry said, never having used the phrase before, but he overheard his parents say it all the time as a kid.

And then it clicked. These were his results for the test Louis made him take yesterday. This was pretty fast, considering he was told it would be two or three days before he received this phone call. He listened close with a lump in his throat as the receptionist went over routine information, and then she told him he was all clear. An audible sigh escaped his throat which he didn’t even try to cover up. This was the result he was kind-of expecting, but he couldn’t help but mentally prepare for the worst—which it truly would’ve been. There were few scenarios that he could imagine would compare.

“Who was that?” Wren asked over a yawn as she entered the kitchen, ruffling her hair and immediately searching for a mug so she could make her morning cup of tea.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Harry shrugged, but his mind was suddenly wondering if Louis would be getting the same phone call today.

“Didn’t sound like nothing. You had your professional voice on,” she said in amusement before turning to the sink to fill the kettle. That reminded Harry to get a refill from the coffee pot. Since it was right next to him, he twisted his torso to reach and filled his mug halfway.

“Just bank stuff. Change of address,” he lied, but that reminded him that he actually  _ should  _ call his bank about that.

“That reminds me, you left some papers from a sexual health clinic on the counter last night.” So much for the lie, Harry supposed. “Did you get someone pregnant?”

“What? No!” Harry exclaimed. That was so far from the truth he almost laughed.

“I mean, I didn’t read the papers, but I had to assume…”

“I got tested, that’s all,” Harry said since his cover was blown anyway. He didn’t know why he felt so embarrassed about it because it’s something everyone did or  _ should  _ do, but his first instinct was to hide it.

“Oo, are you seeing someone?” Wren sing-songed.

“No, nothing like that,” he waved her off.

Wren raised an eyebrow defiantly. “So you can be nosey about my love life but I can’t be nosey about yours?”

“Just a normal checkup. Louis was going for a routine test anyway, so I figured I might as well go too.”

“Ah, getting tested together. What a fun bro-date,” she teased, pouring hot water over the teabag in her mug.

“Shut up,” Harry laughed.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t joke. It could be serious if you–”

“I’m all clear,” Harry said before they could get into any of that.

Wren wasn’t given the chance to react because there was a knock on the front door, sending her down the hall to check who it was. That gave Harry a chance to finally dig into his breakfast. A delicious, sugary, one-in-the-afternoon breakfast.

“Speak of the devil!” he heard Wren exclaim pleasantly, followed by Louis’ voice asking how she was doing. Their voices got louder as he followed her back to the kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked with a smile. He was dedicated to this cereal now, though, so he didn’t hop down for a proper greeting.

“I brought over some stuff for you guys,” Louis said, sliding the open-top box he was carrying onto the kitchen counter. “I’ve been cleaning out that spare room still and I found some tapes I thought you guys might like.”

He lifted a paper grocery bag off of the top to take out the shoebox from underneath and handed it to Wren. “This looks like they’re the same as all of those records you brought home,” she said to Harry.

“Well, these ones you can actually listen to,” Louis pointed out. He knew that Harry was yet to pick up a record player that would make all that vinyl useable. Eventually, he’d get around to it.

“What’s in the bag?” Harry wondered, nodding towards it.

“Oh, I, uh,” Louis’ cheeks got a little flushed as he reached inside and pulled out three loaves of bread. “I bought this bread maker last week and got a little carried away. I gave a few loaves to Zayn and Liam too, so I thought you guys might want to try some.”

Now that  _ did  _ make Harry hop down from the cupboard. “You made these?” he said, opening one of the bags and smelling what was inside. “Wow, it’s still warm.”

“They’re fresh from this morning.”

“Bread just so happens to be my favourite food,” Harry said. Even though it was a pretty vague and boring choice, it was true.

Louis nodded in amusement. “Yeah, you’ve mentioned that.”

“Damn, I haven’t had homemade bread since I was a kid,” Wren said, already pulling out a knife and cutting board. She lined up the serrated edge and sawed without much of a method.

“Oh, you’re going to try it now?”

“Why not?” Wren shrugged while lifting one of the three slices to her mouth. Harry took the other two, handing one to Louis who looked hesitant to accept it.

“This is really good,” Harry told him sincerely as he chewed on his first bite. 

Wren agreed eagerly, opening the fridge to search for some jam to add to it. She claimed it didn’t need it, but she was turning this into her breakfast. Harry watched Louis nibble on the crust, still acting far too shy. He could tell Louis was the type right away; the kind who struggles to accept compliments, especially when it had to do with his abilities. It went with his spontaneous shyness whenever he was somewhere he wasn’t fully comfortable. At work, he absolutely ran that place. Having a friend over at his apartment was no big deal at all. But put him around a group where he was the new person, it was like he had to make sure he wasn’t taking up too much space. And that’s why Harry made it his mission to do everything in his power so Louis wouldn’t feel like that around him and his friends. They were all friends now. What reason did he have?

“Thanks for bringing all this stuff,” Harry said while Wren was escaping to the living room with her tea and plate of jam and bread. “It was really cool of you.”

“Well, it was no problem, I-” Louis stuttered, but was interrupted by the door opening again, now with a louder presence filling the space.

“Everyone up and decent?” Liam asked as he marched into the kitchen, Zayn on his trail. “Is that the bread Louis made? Isn’t it good?”

Liam helped himself to a slice while Wren asked, “What are you doing here?” from the couch. Her tone was much less friendly than when Louis arrived.

“I left a few games here last weekend that I need back,” Zayn explained. He was already headed to the entertainment centre to look through Wren’s box of cartridges for her SNES.

Harry remembered then that he was still standing in the kitchen in his boxers, but at least he had the decency to throw a t-shirt on before he came out here. Scooping the last few bites of cereal into his mouth, Harry left the bowl in the sink and tried to make a quick trip to his room to change. Whenever Liam and Zayn came over, chances were that they would be overstaying their welcome.

“By the way, do you guys ever check your mail?” Liam asked, dropping a pile of flyers and bills next to the collection that was forming on the counter. They must’ve been leftover from Friday, but the answer was usually no. It was rare that their mailbox got emptied more than once a week.

“There’s a letter for you,” Louis said only because he noticed it on the top of the pile.

Harry turned back around to pick up the letter. The handwriting was familiar, so he knew what this was right away. He used his thumb to rip it open. 

“It’s a birthday card from my grandma,” he explained. “My mom must’ve given her the address.” Even though she wasn’t here to watch him open it, Harry still pretended he was more interested in what the card said than the twenty dollar bill that was inside.

“Birthday?!” Wren exclaimed. “When is your birthday?”

“Oh yeah, isn’t it tomorrow?” Liam said, making zero effort to cover up the fact that he forgot until just now.

It wasn’t that Harry disliked birthdays. Going out to party was always a good time as long as he didn’t overdo it, which tended to happen when it came to celebratory drinks. He just didn’t want anyone to think they had to throw a big get-together or buy him gifts. Honestly, going out to a bar with a few friends was always fine with him. At least, that’s what he did last year. Before he turned twenty-one, he and his friends just drank at home and played the Nintendo all night. Really, not a lot had changed.

“You should’ve said something,” Wren said, bringing her empty plate back. “That’s not enough time to plan anything.”

“Tomorrow is a Monday,” Harry pointed out.

“Then we can plan something for next weekend,” Liam offered, having taken Harry’s spot on the counter. “Where do you want to go?”

“Louis, weren’t you talking about a drag show at the Oak Room that you were going to ask Harry about?” Zayn said. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor with the box in his lap and cartridges surrounding him. 

“Oh, yeah,” Louis turned to Harry. “You said you wanted to go to drag show sometime so I was going to ask if you–”

“Yes,” Harry agreed easily. Eagerly, even “Let’s do that.” It was something different for once, and Harry was kind of excited to see one. Sometimes people came to the bar dressed in drag, so he’d seen it done before, but never the extravagance of a drag queen at an actual show. Louis explained it to him once, so that word felt right.

“A drag show?” Liam raised his eyebrows.

Zayn appeared next to him, holding three cartridges stacked in his hand. “You’ll love it, man,” he said with a grin, patting Liam on the knee. Liam didn’t look nearly as thrilled, but good thing it wasn’t his birthday party.


	12. Chapter 12

Louis never mentioned anything about his test results. Really, they were none of Harry’s business, to begin with, so it wasn’t a big deal. He was, however, surprised that Louis never asked him about his, either. Just a casual “Hey, you got your phone call, right?” But who knows, maybe he didn’t? But he probably did, and Harry found himself worrying far more than he should’ve about it.

He felt bad for worrying because it was like he was making an assumption. Just playing into that stigma that Louis was telling him about, but they were in times where that worry was very real, and Harry had only recently begun to realize how severe the crisis really was.

But that wasn’t what he wanted to think about while they ate lunch together at a local pancake joint, Louis’ treat for Harry’s birthday. They went through the usual routine: Harry said he didn’t have to, Louis insisted, and Harry eventually agreed even though he definitely wanted to go from the start. Louis showing up at his front door before any plans were actually made may have also sped up the process.

A stack of pancakes and about three cups of coffee each later, Louis sent his credit card off with the server to pay the bill. 

“You’re probably going to want to open your present in the car,” he said.

Harry gave him a funny look from across the table. “Was taking me out for lunch not the gift?”

“Of course not. You have to have something to open on your birthday!”

All of this was starting to make Harry feel a little guilty. What Louis was doing for him was more than enough. With the lunch and their upcoming weekend plans, and now a gift... A friend had never gone to so much effort for one of his birthdays before. But for Louis’ birthday, all Harry could be bothered with, apparently, was a measly phone call. No gift, no meal, not even offering to buy him a drink the next time they all went out together. 

This was a new year, Harry supposed, and they weren’t as good of friends a month ago. They had only been working together for a couple of weeks at that point, but somehow just clicked almost immediately. When it came to their lives and habits they weren’t alike at all. Louis had everything organized from his work life to his underwear drawer. Harry hadn’t seen it, but he could only assume. Harry, for the most part, lived out of a laundry basket of clean clothes and was in desperate need of a watch so he wasn’t late everywhere he went.

But as friends, they worked pretty much perfectly. They just got each other, and Harry was excited to have someone in his life who he felt really understood him despite living his own completely differently. And yes, in Harry’s eyes, being organized and having an actual structure to his life was completely different.

When they got out to the parking lot, Louis popped open the trunk of his car. Now it was making more sense why he had parked at the far end of the parking lot when they arrived. He pulled out a large box wrapped in sparkly blue wrapping paper with a shiny silver bow on top. Based on his movements, the box appeared to be slightly heavy. Harry slammed the trunk so Louis could place it on top.

“Open it,” he grinned excitedly. “And don’t you dare say I didn’t have to get you anything. It’s your birthday, dammit. Let me spoil my friends.”

With a humoured, yet grateful roll of his eyes, Harry stepped forward to tear the first rip in the paper. He was confused when he saw the brand name _Pioneer_ on the box, so he kept opening. And then his mouth fell open.

“You got me a record player?” he asked in shock.

“I gave you all those records. Didn’t think it was fair that you couldn’t play them.”

Louis crossed his arms and rested his hip against the tail light, looking quite proud of himself. Harry’s eyes were still wide.

“Aren’t these, like, expensive?” He had to bring up the cost because this felt like too much.

“Nah, it didn’t break my bank,” Louis waved off the comment. “Do you like it? I know that brand is supposed to be good.”

“Yes, of course!” Harry gushed. “I- Thank you!” he said, pulling Louis in for a hug. He could tell right away that Louis wasn’t much of a hugger at all based on how awkward he moved his arms to hug back, but he still gladly accepted the short embrace.

“Do you want any help setting it up?” Louis offered, twirling his keys in his hand. It wasn’t like they could hang out in this parking lot just staring at that box forever. 

“I mean, my room is a bit of a mess right now, but…”

“Get in,” Louis grinned. It looked like Harry wasn’t getting much of a choice, but he wanted to yes anyway. He put the record player in the backseat of the car before getting in the front, then thanked Louis about a hundred times on the drive over.

Harry was really going to have to step-up his birthday game come December.

 

Despite the many times Harry had gone out with friends after a show or just for a night of partying, pre-drinking was rarely part of those plans. If it was before a show, pre-drinking was a quick shot before going on stage just to loosen up. But now, sitting in the back of Niall’s van, he was being told that they were meeting Zayn and Liam at Louis’ place before they headed out for the night.

Louis did not skip out on the decorating, with everything from balloons to a banner and even a birthday cake that had his name on it—not from the discount section. Everyone came prepared with beer, coolers, and a double-sized bottle of vodka which was definitely more than needed. Since she didn’t drink, Wren offered to drive everyone so she wouldn’t miss out on the fun. 

Niall decided he would be the one in charge of the music as they Zayn and Liam handed out shots. One look at Louis’ tapes told Niall that he wasn’t going to find anything that met his standards of good music, so he started looking through the record collection instead. It was already known to Harry that Louis was only a fan of the hits, but he decided that having that sort of taste was probably more fun. Louis probably turned up the volume on his stereo as loud as his apartment would allow and walked around with a feather duster as a microphone. That’s what Harry would do if he lived alone. He refused to believe Louis didn’t “do” music when his apartment was covered in it. The music was just hidden. He was a secret fan.

“This is not what they’re going to be playing in the club,” Zayn said when Niall had settled on a Beatles album.

“They should.” Niall was only half-joking.

“What do you want, a “Here Comes the Sun” remix?” Louis raised his eyebrow as he took a sip of his drink. Zayn was mixing simple drinks now, but Harry was already feeling the effects from that first shot.

“As long as I don’t have to hear Madonna,” Liam said, leaving everyone looking slightly offended but not enough to carry on with. 

There were more pressing matters to take care of, like digging into that delicious looking marble cake sitting on the counter. That would explain Louis’ not-so-subtle questions at work the other day trying to figure out all of his favourites. Harry couldn’t pick between vanilla and chocolate cake, so Louis went with both. It also explained why they were drinking Bud Light. Harry’s favourite kind of beer was whatever was cheapest.

As Louis cut the cake, skipping the candles and song because Liam had preemptively begun digging in with a knife, he handed Harry the first piece. Harry stayed behind in the kitchen while the others spread out to eat.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Harry said once Louis had given the last piece to Liam, making him wait as punishment. He scraped the leftover icing from the knife and licked it off his thumb to avoid any more mess.

“Thought I’d spruce it up,” Louis shrugged, dropping the knife in the sink and rinsing his hands. “I don’t have a lot of company, so it was kind of fun.”

“Thanks for doing all of this,” Harry said sincerely. He scooted over on the counter he was leaning against to make room for Louis who was now digging into a piece of his own. “It was really cool of you to go to all this trouble.”

Louis laughed. “Not enough people have done nice things for you, have they? And I’m not just talking about a ride home.”

“No one’s ever thrown me a birthday party. Not since I was about ten years old, anyway.”

Louis was half right. Of course people had done nice things for Harry, and he’d like to think he’d gone out of his way once in a while to make the people in his life whom he loved feel special, too. But he’d never had a friend like Louis, or one who seemed to care quite as much. Harry wondered if he ever did something like this for Zayn, or if he ever would for Niall, Wren, or Liam. What exactly made Harry so special?

“You’ll have to let me know how this one compares, then,” Louis said with a sly smile, accenting it by scooping a bite of cake into his mouth.

If nothing else, Harry had a feeling that this birthday would definitely be the most memorable.

 

“Are you sure this place is cool with, you know, _us_ being there?” Niall asked as Wren was in the middle of her flawless parallel parking job. She had to find a street a few blocks over to get a spot, but a little walking wouldn’t kill them.

“The Oak Room is pretty chill with anyone being there as long as it’s for a good time and not to make any trouble,” Zayn explained as everyone hopped out of the van.

“I mean, it’s still mostly people who aren’t straight, but yeah, anyone can go,” Wren said. Earlier, she had mentioned that she used to be a regular here, and could probably get them in if there was a line. “Just don’t be weird about it.”

“We’ll try not to embarrass you too much,” Liam said, the last to join the others on the sidewalk. 

Harry ended up walking next to Louis, who he assumed he would be attached at the hip of pretty much all night. Tonight, Harry had made more of an effort to actually dress up to go out, with some help from Wren and her closet. His clothes were actually fitting for once, even though he decided against anything bolder than a white t-shirt and jeans, but at least he decided to leave his usual second-hand military jacket at home.

“Is there anything I need to know before we go in?” Harry leaned closer to Louis, asking just him.

“It’s just a show,” Louis said. “There's music and jokes and the crowd really gets into it. You’ll have fun,” he smiled.

“What is this?” Zayn suddenly said, yanking the red bandana that was hanging out of Harry’s back pocket. He had it tied around his head on the way to Louis’ but once he saw how everyone else was dressed, decided against the hair accessory.

Louis turned to look at what Zayn was holding, then barked out a laugh. “You had a red hanky in your pocket? Which one?”

“I don’t get it,” Harry said, looking at his other friends for help even though they seemed more or less unbothered.

“I’d leave that in the car if I were you. Or at least stuff it in your jacket.” Zayn bunched up the bandana and tossed it back to him. “You might be sending the wrong message. Or not—you do you.”

“Does anyone use that anymore?” Louis said passively.

“What does it mean?” Harry asked, slowing his pacing to find an inside pocket that it would fit in. No one else was waiting up. “Wait, tell me! What does it mean?!”

Wren was right about the line, but also about knowing the door guy who let them in without any bribery necessary. How many friends did she have, exactly? They paid their ticket fee and headed straight to coat check to drop off anything they didn’t feel like carrying around, then entered the double doors into the club.

The Oak Room was much bigger than Club Rose. It was designed for shows and with room to dance, not just sitting with a few friends to have a drink. The lights flashed like a concert, dark but with a hue of blue and pink covering the whole place. There was a DJ blasting music while a few people gathered around the runway-style stage at the back of the room to make sure they got a good spot. The rest were already dancing with drinks in their hands or lining up at the bar which stretched along almost an entire wall. It wasn’t packed yet, but the line outside wasn’t getting much shorter, so it was only a matter of time.

Everyone was dressed eccentricity to their own definition, wearing bright colours and varied types of clothes and _amounts_ of clothes. It was so much different from any club Cherry Pez ever played. In a world of painful mediocrity, these were the kind of people who were so excited to themselves. Whether it be a heightened version, completely out of the box, or just their kind of normal. Now, it wasn’t like Harry was walking into a circus, but he was so used to conservative suburbia that this was refreshing, to say the least. Even the music scene he had tended to immerse himself in still hadn’t quite reached this level of absolutely not giving a fuck. 

And the show hadn’t even started yet.

They hit up the bar first, ordering a round of shots because Wren and Zayn had decided they wanted to dance and alcohol was the only way to get Liam and Niall on any dance floor. Harry tended to be even harder to convince, but Louis had grabbed one of his wrists and Wren had the other, and those were two people he really couldn’t say no to.

The music they played was exactly what Niall was dreading but what Louis loved. If anyone didn’t like it, they were making no effort to seem apparent. It’s hard to be upset about anything if you’re trying to dance. _Trying_ was the keyword there because Harry had absolutely no idea what he was doing. It was the kind of dancing where you either moved your arms or your legs, not both, seen coming from the uncomfortable dude who actually brought his beer onto the dance floor and didn’t want to spill it. Harry liked to think he was trying at least a bit harder than that kind of guy, but he wasn’t enough ounces in yet to be busting out any kind of moves. Maybe this was why people pre-drank.

The DJ announced over the speakers that there were about twenty minutes until the show was going to start, so their group made a quick beeline for the bar before an even longer line started to form. Most of them got simple cocktails, Niall got a beer, and Wren got water, not feeling like she was missing out in the slightest. She knew how to have fun, regardless. There was no consumption point that would finally get her to remove her shell and let loose. It was the kind of confidence Harry wished he had.

They didn’t stand up front for the shows since they couldn’t get any closer with how packed it was around the stage. There was to be an opener and a headliner, all names Harry had never heard of but found quite creative, to say the least. The six of them huddled around a standing table that wasn’t quite big enough to fit them all as the M.C. for the night announced the first performer.

She entered the stage to wild applause and whistles, everyone just as excited as if they were front row at a stadium concert, if not more. Her name was Dom Monique and the tight, shimmery purple dress she wore with heels that added about six inches to her height made her live up to it. When she greeted the crowd, her voice was soft but low, kind of in a sexy way. At first, she cracked a few jokes that Harry would readily admit he only sort of understood. Then she sat herself on a piano that didn’t have a player and did the best performance to a Madonna song Harry had ever seen from someone who wasn’t Madonna.

Louis was right, the show was fun. Hell, it was a blast. It was loud and hilarious and downright impressive. Harry had never seen the audience so involved in something like this before. As for the performances, the looks were wild and stunning and Louis explained that they did all of it themselves which impressed Harry even more. He cheered after each song, his hands cupped around his mouth, nearly forgetting the guard he had up when he first arrived.

When Dom Monique began her walk through the crowd, handing out one-liners as she accepted tips, she stopped around their table and gave Harry a once-over.

“You here with anyone tonight, baby?” she asked, making a show of checking him out.

Harry laughed, turning to Louis who looked quite amused as well.

“Oh, him?” she pointed at Louis, who started shaking his head like he’d been caught. 

“But you tried though, right?” she stage whispered to him, getting the crowd laughing again.

“We all brought him out for his birthday,” Niall shouted, which made Harry turn beet red. The last thing he wanted was the attention of the bar on him, but his friends were nothing if not encouraging.

“Ooh, happy birthday,” she said, twirling a curl on his head. “Can I guess your age? I’m real good at it.”

“Sure,” Harry said with an awkward laugh.

“Forty with no wife and a trust fund? Or am I wishful thinking.”

“Twenty-two,” he said, feeling like he wasn’t doing too good of a job of holding up his half of this bit.

“Hmm, I can work with that. I do like ‘em older, though. I hope you’re having a good night, baby.”

Earning another laugh from the crowd, and a tip from Zayn, she moved on to the table next to them as her own version of a meet and greet. She finished with one final performance to an 80s pop hit that Harry would normally pretend he didn’t know, and closed out the night. That was when the stage pretty much turned into another dance floor, Dom Monique disappearing into some sort of backstage area behind it. They decided to abandon their table altogether, which was when Wren decided to drag the boys back to the dancefloor.

“Want to get another drink?” Harry asked Louis in an attempt to avoid Wren’s persistence.

Louis shook the ice in his otherwise empty glass. “Sure, I could use a refill.”

They squeezed their way to the far end of the bar and managed to find two unoccupied stools. Harry slid onto one, patting for Louis to join him as he ordered two vodka cranberries because vodka only tastes good when you can mask it with sugar.

“So?” Louis asked, pulling cash out from his wallet to pay. He made Harry agree to let him buy the drinks tonight before they even left his apartment. “What did you think of the show?”

“It was amazing, honestly,” Harry said. “I didn’t know drag shows were… that.”

Louis tilted his head. “What?”

“Just– Fun and hilarious and dirty, but, like, in a fun and hilarious way. And she was _talented_ like that wasn’t her singing, but damn, she was performing.”

“It’s what they do.”

“I loved it.”

Louis smiled, picking up his drink just as it was placed in front of him. “I’m glad you’re having a good time,” he said, then took a small sip. He was right, Harry was having a fucking blast.

“Louis? Is that you?” asked the man sitting to Harry’s right. He leaned over the bar to get a better look at Louis, whose face was slowly draining of colour.

“Trysten? What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking why you’re here and not at Club Rose.”

“Can’t exactly play where you work, can you?” Louis joked, his follow-up laugh sounding more than forced.

“So who is this?” Trysten asked, looking to Harry with a grin. That was when Harry actually got a look at him; tall with dark skin, and face that you had to look twice at just to take it all in. His jaw was sharp and lined with stubble, and his smile all dimpled in his structured cheekbones. Nothing about him appeared wrong, except the way his smile made Louis’ falter.

“Oh, this is Harry, a friend from work. We took him out for his birthday.”

“Right, Dom Monique was talking to you during the show. Nice to meet you.” He held out a hand for Harry to shake.

Right then, Harry caught Zayn, who was hurrying towards them, in the corner of his eye.

“Hey Trysten, long time no see,” Zayn spoke quickly and waved half-heartedly in his direction. “Harry, can I talk to you for a sec?” He grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him out of his seat before he could protest. Harry was lucky his drink wasn’t spilled because red splatter does not go with a white t-shirt.

“What’s going on?” he asked, confused by Zayn’s hastiness as he led him away from the bar.

“I just saved you from a terrible interaction. Let’s go have a smoke.” 

Since they couldn’t find an empty table with an ashtray, they decided to get a bit a fresh air would be best. He followed Zayn out the side door, him with an unlit cigarette already dangling from his mouth. When they reached the cool outdoors, Harry immediately wished they had grabbed their jackets from coat check, but they weren’t about to push through that crowd again. Zayn was already taking his first puff before Harry even got one out of his pack.

“What was all that about?” Harry asked in oblivion as he stuck his hands in every one of his pockets. Once Zayn realized the issue, he handed Harry his lighter.

“Trysten is Louis’ ex,” Zayn explained. “His most recent ex, actually.”

“Oh.” Harry raised his eyebrows. Trysten wasn’t a name he’d heard until today. “When did they break up?”

“A little over a year ago,” Zayn said. “They were together for almost four years.”

“That’s a long time,” Harry said slowly, shocked that Louis hadn’t mentioned anything about any exes during all the days they hung out and the shifts they worked together. Then again, Harry never asked.

“Yeah, they were pretty serious. They had been living together for two years already when they broke up.”

Harry was looking more confused by the second.

“Do you want the full story?” Zayn asked.

Harry nodded, taking his first drag and listening closely.

“They met in college,” he began. “Some class like philosophy where there are 400 students in a theatre and the prof can’t tell when you aren’t paying attention. They say next to each other on the first day as freshmen and got to talking. Louis tells it like it was some sort of serendipitous meeting. Trysten was in a fraternity, so he invited Louis and his friends to a party, which was the start of a series of secret hookups before Trysten came out. That was when they officially started dating.”

“Secret?” Harry clarified.

Zayn looked at him without turning his head. “You don’t even know what you don’t know,” he said with a laugh, which did not help Harry’s confusion, but the statement sounded too general to just be about this conversation. “Anyway, Louis dropped out in his second year to work full-time which was around the time I met him. He had his own apartment already so Trysten moved in a few months later so he wouldn’t have to keep living in a frat house. And because they were getting serious, I guess.”

“Sounds like you aren’t Trysten’s biggest fan,” Harry observed.

“He broke my best friend’s heart. Louis talked like they were going to be together forever. They got Deja together, you know. Louis decided to keep her when Trysten moved out.”

“Why did they break up?”

“Trysten wasn’t ready to settle down. They started dating young and he wanted to experience a bit more of life first, which I get, honestly. Louis told me all the reasons and it seemed totally valid, and I think he agreed. The only bad thing Trysten did was leave when Louis wanted him to stay. He wasn’t a bad guy, but you pick your friend’s side, you know? You know who you have to support.”

The logistics of relationships were far beyond Harry’s level of understanding. He spent most of his life not caring to figure dating out because it was so much easier that way. Hearing the story of how easily a relationship could end between people who had committed so much of themselves to it really enforced his ideology: relationships sucked.

The logistics of them, anyway.

How nice would it be if love was simple? No rules, no expectations, just living your life by your gut and trusting the person you chose and the person who chose you to want all the same things. As if all that marriage advice you hear from people who are bound for inevitable divorce actually worked. As if being truly happy wasn’t a rare commodity. What a pipe dream it was to think life would end up in your favour without working for it.

Maybe Harry was the one in need of a bit of a reality check.

“So why am I the one you tore away instead of Louis?” Harry wondered.

Zayn took a deep breath, rubbing his eye with the thumb that was holding his smoke. “I’d never seen Louis in a darker place than he was after Trysten left. His new life after the breakup has been going a lot better since he became friends with you. Trysten is an old life, and he doesn’t need the two clashing. Not when he’s finally becoming his own person again.”

“Do you think he’s still in there talking to him?”

“No,” Zayn replied quickly. “I think he made up some excuse to get away from him about a minute into catching up, then immediately left to find us again. When he couldn’t find us, he dragged himself onto the dance floor with Wren and the guys, or ordered another drink and is currently hiding in a corner somewhere until he spots one of us again. That, or they’re talking about how desperately they’ve been missing each other and want to give it a second chance.”

He said the last part with a dry smile so Harry knew he was kidding, but he still felt bad for Louis. Seeing an ex was probably strenuous on the mind and the heart, and by the sounds of it, Louis took that breakup hard. He wanted to go back in there and make sure he was okay, at the very least.

“You almost done?” Harry asked, dropping his cigarette on the ground and squishing it with his foot while there were still a couple drags left. He couldn’t be bothered to finish it, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the warmth of inside. The beginning of February still called for freezing temperatures, and tonight, they had answered.

“Yeah,” Zayn said, doing the same before following Harry to the door. “Let’s go find him.” 

Zayn’s first prediction was right. They found Louis at another part of the bar, sitting with Niall who was waiting for a drink. Niall was the one who waved them over, and just as they arrived, another barstool opened up. Harry took it since Niall apparently had something extremely important to tell Zayn, but he was also about six or seven drinks in so ‘important’ had lost its meaning.

“Where were you guys?” Louis asked, now sipping on water. He had proved himself to be nowhere near the party animal that their other friends were capable of becoming. It was only midnight now, and knowing them, they still had a few more hours to go.

“Just for a smoke,” Harry said casually. The bartender popped up to take his drink order, but he decided on a water as well. A short break from this long night was probably a good idea because Harry was at least slightly drunk.

“Zayn gave you the summary, I assume?” He meant of Trysten, of course. That made Harry pretty sure that his version had to be pretty similar to Louis’, minus the actual pain of the heartbreak.

“He did, yeah.”

“I guess it’s kind of weird that I never mentioned that to you, huh?”

“No, I get it,” Harry told him. “It’s a hard thing you had to go through. Not something you want to talk about.”

“He was almost four years of my life,” Louis said.

Harry shrugged. “If you’re lucky, you’ll get to keep the other sixty-plus years for yourself. Then you can share them instead of giving them away.”

Louis thought about the statement for a second, and then he smiled ever so slightly. Harry noticed.

“Are you okay? I know it’s been a while since you last talked to him.” A crease of concern formed between Harry’s eyebrows.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Louis nodded quickly, looking back out to the dance floor. He spotted Wren and Liam doing some sort of Rumba impression with a few new faces they must’ve become friendly with. Harry looked over his shoulder to find Liam waving him over, then turned back to Louis.

“Come on,” Harry said, quickly chugging the rest of his water and standing from his stool. He took Louis by the arm, who easily complied. “Let’s dance.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

It was the middle of the day, but Harry had all the lights off in his room, the blinds twisted closed and the curtains pulled tight together to ensure he had full privacy. Lucky for him, the door for his room had a lock. He lay face-up on his bed, his blanket pulled high to his neck so no limbs were exposed. With his eyes closed, he tried to focus, keeping his breathing steady. It was the only way this ever did anything for him.

“ _Somehow, you knew that one day you would quit. Congratulations! You did it. Today, and for all the rest of your days, you are free. You have broken out of your cell and are now a free man in search of a higher quality life. Your new life is filled with more time, more money, more self-respect, and more energy. Smoking is simply something that you used to do. Now there is always something better to do than suck on that cancer stick.”_

Hypnotherapy had to be bullshit, right? There was no way laying here in the dark with headphones over his ears was going to make Harry not want to smoke ever again. In fact, sometimes the voice on this tape alone made him want to step outside for a cigarette. 

Then again, it had almost been a week since his last one.

_“You are free from being kicked around by all the cigarette companies because they don’t care about you. From this moment on, you are a non-smoker. You have never felt better and you are going to feel better yet because you have gotten rid of all the poison. You are proud to be a non-smoker and you are going to be a non-smoker for the rest of your long, healthy life. Repeat this to yourself: "I am now a non-smoker and I'm going to be a non-smoker for the rest of my life”."_

“I am now a non-smoker,” Harry said. He quickly peaked an eye open to see if he noticed any shadows of Wren listening in front of his door. That wasn’t something she ever did, but he was definitely paranoid. “And I’m going to be a non-smoker for the rest of my life.”

According to this tape Liam gave him, all he had to do was repeat that phrase to himself fifteen times and he would be cured of his addiction. Easy as that!

Harry yanked the headphones off his ears and threw his blanket off himself with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Hypnotherapy might’ve worked for some people, but it really did not feel like it was for him. What did feel like it was working was the nicotine patches he picked up from the drugstore the morning after the drag show outing with his friends. He had his last cigarette from the pack as his usual hangover cure, but when he left the house to buy more, he just decided to buy the patches instead. They cost more than a pack but were probably a much better investment in the long run.

There was a hard knock on Harry’s door and it swung open before he could even register it. He wasn’t naked or anything, but his first instinct was to grab his blanket and cover his torso as he stared in surprise at Liam.

“Shit, sorry, man!” he said, pulling the door towards himself and staring at the floor. “A-Are you decent?”

“Why did you barge in here?!”

“I didn’t think you’d be… you know…”

“I’m not!” Harry exclaimed in defence.

“Well, you had the blinds closed and you’re in bed in the middle of the day and–”

“What do you want, Liam?”

His expression changed, lifting to a smile as he let his hand off of the doorknob. “We got a package delivered today. Come check it out.”

Liam didn’t close the door behind him when he walked away, leaving Harry to follow. Harry dragged himself out of bed and found a different shirt to change into. One with fewer stains and holes. In the kitchen, everyone was stood around the table, peeking excitedly into a cardboard box. He didn’t even realize Zayn and Louis had both showed up for the occasion, but he greeted them both in pleasant surprise.

“What’s going on?” he asked, squeezing between Niall and Wren to take a look for himself.

“We got the first batch of our demo!” Niall said with a rare kind of excitement in his voice. “Take a look.”

He handed Harry one of the plastic CD cases, who took it eagerly so he could finally see it up close and in person. Since he was an art major and all, Zayn had designed the cover for them; two cherries being dropped into the silhouette of a doll-like head, the mouth opened unnaturally wide like a Pez dispenser. Not too flashy, but still enough colour to catch people’s attention. Harry opened the case to look inside, but it was blank, as was the CD. So he looked back at the cover and admired Zayn’s hard work again. Even if it wouldn’t be their logo or an iconic image that followed them throughout their career, it was a good representation of them right now. And if they had to change it, they’d hire Zayn again to do a little reworking.

“This is so weird,” Harry said in amazement. “They’re just stacks of CDs but they have our band name on them. And our songs are burned onto those discs.”

“Pretty cool, huh?” Wren nodded with a grin.

“They look great, man,” Liam said to Zayn, patting him once on the back. Zayn smiled in thanks, looking at his own copy. They each got to keep one for themselves, Louis included.

“You’re going to listen to this one, right?” Harry asked Louis, nudging him with his elbow.

“Yeah, I’ll put it on repeat at the club,” Louis joked. It was mostly funny because having Cherry Pez’s music played at any sort of club was pretty laughable. Their sound worked better for headbanging in a mosh pit rather than grinding on a date.

“So,” Niall cut in, addressing the group. “We need to talk distribution. I’m thinking we ask local record stores about selling EPs, but they’re probably getting asked the same question by everyone and their mother. Our best bet would probably be merch tables after shows.”

“Then you’re gonna need someone to run them,” Louis said. “My weekend nights are usually free.”

“You’d do that?” Wren looked at him.

“I’m up for it, too. We’ll be like your groupies,” Zayn offered.

“Yeah, to be clear, this is solely for the free tickets,” Louis added with a joking smile.

“Now we just need to, you know, book some actual shows,” Niall pointed out. They still hadn’t played a show since that night at Katzman Theatre, and no one had come knocking for bookings so far. At least, so they thought.

“Oh!” Liam exclaimed. “I forgot to mention that I was talking to my friend Sid, remember him? Lead singer of King Jane? He was telling me about this small venue tour they’re doing. It’s just around Seattle and Tacoma, then a weekend in Oregon. It’s all bars and theatres. Three weeks and three nights a week.”

“Uh, that’s great for them,” Wren said, only semi-encouraging as she gave Liam a strange look.

“You’re not understanding me. They need an opener! They already offered us the gig. I’m actually supposed to call him back today…”

Everyone’s eyes were widening while Liam appeared to be trying to remember if today really was the right day.

“You’re only mentioning this now?!” Niall stepped in front of him with his arms crossed.

“I only talked to him on Friday,” Liam defended. He wasn’t a total idiot. He was just waiting until the whole band was together before he shared the news. But then he also forgot to actually do the sharing.

“What are you waiting for, man?” Harry said. “Call him back!”

“Right now?”

“YES!” they all said in unison, Zayn and Louis included.

Liam disappeared around the corner with his address book open and the phone pressed to his ear. Really, Niall should’ve been making the call since he was usually the one to handle business. As soon as he realized that for himself, he was after Liam to make sure he asked all the right questions and got the details correct.

Technically, this would be their first tour. No spending all day riding in a tour bus or all night partying with a crew of roadies, but they’d be playing for a different crowd two nights a week and finally getting their name out there. Some people had to know them already. Their picture had been in the _Applause_ fanzine twice now. For a moment, Harry pictured what it would be like to be on the cover of a magazine. Not just these fanzines either, although that would be cool as well. He was thinking _Alternative Press_ . _Rolling Stone_ . Even break out across the pond and find themselves on the cover of _NME_ or _Melody Maker_. Where all the greats had found themselves during a career highlight. And then again for a legacy piece.

For now, maybe _Applause_ would give them a call.

But really, Harry was thinking too small. This wasn’t about the magazine covers or the interviews. There could be bigger venues. Headliner shows. Arena tours _with_ full days of riding on a tour bus and partying all night with roadies. Getting one step closer to something that had always been just a dream still didn’t make it feel like it would become a reality. Instead, Harry was getting pulled further into that dream world in his head of becoming a rockstar. 

Hopefully, they could at least sell a few EPs first. And find someone with an unsigned contract willing to listen to it.

 

One week later, a few brief meetings and planning had led to their first gig on a state-wide tour. While Cherry Pez was without official management or any sort of agent, King Jane had come with a two-person team who shared all of the bookings and promoting duties. As far as getting themselves to and from each venue and making sure they had everything they needed, that was still up to the bands. But all of the business was being taken care of, so as long as they showed up and played, their paychecks were getting signed.

There was one thing that Cherry Pez had that King Jane didn’t, and that was two friends willing to set up a table at each venue and sell merch for the band. When King Jane got word of the arrangement, they had made a deal with Zayn and Louis for them to add their album and t-shirt design to the nightly sales. Since it didn’t add too much work and drew more people to the table, the two of them were more than willing to comply.

Playing shows at these new venues was thrilling for everyone in the band. More space to play, bigger crowds, and _louder_ crowds made all the difference. Surprisingly, some people knew the words to one of their songs that they had been playing since they first got together as a band—pre-Wren, even. It was one they also happened to record on their demo, which was likely selling relatively well because of it. About twenty to thirty copies would go out a night, which was more than zero and it meant at least someone was willing to listen. But for Harry, the best part of it all was spending all those weekends with his friends. 

They hung out together in tiny dressing rooms to have a drink and tune-up before the show, signing the venue wall and listening for the chatter of arriving fans. At first, they would hit up bars afterward, but then they started finding late-night restaurants where they could sit and eat baskets of fries and mozzarella sticks until two in the morning. Sometimes they would just head home as soon as the show was over in an attempt to catch up on sleep. Niall was most likely to be the first out of the venue at the end of the night, even leaving behind the van so he wasn’t abandoning everyone. Instead, he’d just cab-it home to his girlfriend. She had shown up to the third show on the tour and was happy enough to be there as she chatted backstage with everyone. She seemed to get along the best with Wren, who was thrilled to have a little more estrogen around. Even still, that was the only show she made it to on the tour, and Niall didn’t bring it up once.

Who did show up for a couple of shows, however, was the girl Wren had been seeing over the last two months or so. She was tall with long black hair and sparkling eyes that matched her kind smile. Her look was kind of punk, just like Wren, with tight pants and thick eyeliner and too many bracelets. She was almost as funny as Wren too, and just as smart. The way they playfully joked around while sitting together on the couch made them look like the perfect adorable couple. Plus, the band finally got to learn her name: Violet. Vee for short, as Harry learned, since he made sure he was the first to introduce himself.

During the shows, Louis and Zayn took their self-proclaimed jobs as groupies very seriously. Whether they were side-stage or squished into the pit with the rest of the crowd because of how small the venue was, they were still the loudest ones cheering for their friends. However, something Harry forgot existed were _actual_ groupies. Well, people who hung out after the show and offered to buy them drinks. Most of them were girls who Liam did not shy away from, but sometimes they were just a group of friends who wanted to join the party. One night, much to Harry’s confusion, he found Niall spending the whole evening with a girl who only resembled his girlfriend but did not share his relationship status. While he was grabbing another beer from the bar, Harry had found him there.

“Dude, what are you doing?” he asked because the behaviour was so unlike Niall that Harry could only assume that something was wrong. He nodded towards the girl who was sitting with her friend at the booth Niall just left so he’d know what he meant.

“I-” Niall began, but quickly stopped himself and looked down with a sigh. “I’m just… trying something.”

Harry gave him an odd look, not sure what he meant, but had a feeling Niall wasn’t sure either. “Just don’t _try_ something stupid that you’re going to regret,” he warned.

“I’ve got a whole life for that,” Niall answered. 

As far as Harry knew, by the end of the tour, Niall had still kept his faithfulness.

Having Louis around was turning out to be a lot more fun than Harry expected. The only reason his expectations were low was because of Louis’ infamous declaration that he didn’t _do_ music, but he was more than into the shows every night. Harry knew because sometimes he found his eyes drifting toward him, and they would pull funny faces at each other when they caught one another’s attention. Louis’ go-to was to give Harry the finger, then when Harry would do the same back, watch as the crowd around him held their middle fingers up too, thinking Harry was doing it to them. _So_ punk rock. 

It was nice to see Louis out and feeling loose, even on the show nights when most of them had stayed sober and gone home early. By the end, no one in the crowd knew more words to the songs than Louis and Zayn, since they had heard them almost as many times as the band had. But they were also facing some tough competition. The support was encouraging, and it made them all feel like they might just be onto something. 

The tour was Cherry Pez’s first taste of success, and it was better than any of their favourite flavours. When it was time for the last show, they really didn’t want it to end.

But it did, and the final scheduled date was at a small theatre in Tacoma that none of them had heard of but were eager to play when they heard the capacity was five hundred people. That would be their biggest night of the tour and it was completely sold out. This was technically a King Jane gig, but Cherry Pez could pretend they played a part in bringing in the crowd.

Wren wasn’t the type to leave her heart on the stage. She left drips of sweat, dropped guitar picks, and a seductive look to the fans in the front row as she turned away. It wasn’t that she wasn’t herself, but the character she added to the mix was what made her love being up there so much. It was what made it a show. She liked to pick on Harry the most, beckoning him closer to the front with her wiggling pointer finger and using him as an easy target to belt out her angry lyrics to. Niall was her armrest and her first pick for stage banter since he was the best for a witty comeback. Liam was always in his own world behind the drum kit, but when Wren introduced the band she always saved him for last and gave him an intro worthy of the extended drum solo he followed it up with.

The three of them always knew Wren was the missing piece. She brought the performance and pulled out the personality they were hiding behind the music. The reason people kept wanting to come back.

Tonight, however, there seemed to be someone in the front row who thought her charisma was a little too personal. Towards him, that is. Harry noticed him about halfway through the set, the way he stared at her with this creepy smile as he held a drink in his hand. Every so often he turned to whisper something to his friend and they would both laugh. Everything about him gave Harry a bad feeling.

“You’re going the wrong way!” the guy yelled once Wren had said a final goodnight on behalf of the band. She was about to walk off stage, following Niall who was already giving notes to his tech. She turned around to scoff.

“I don’t think so,” she rolled her eyes.

“Come on, baby. You can’t look at me like that all night and just walk off. How about an encore?” He said it with a wink, making it pretty obvious he wasn’t talking about another song.

This time she stepped back towards her mic, tilting it towards her while it was still on its stand. “Don’t flatter yourself, _baby_ ,” she mocked as she bent down to his level. “No one’s picking you out of a crowd.”

His eyes flickered down, and he stared down her shirt like the barrel of a gun. “Your tits look amazing from this angle,” he said, and his friends had the audacity to laugh behind him.

Harry only barely heard it, then turned to gage Liam’s reaction. He had stood from his stool, but looked confused more than anything. From behind his kit, he could only hear the amplified side of the conversation.

Wren stood up straight with a sarcastic smile and yanked the mic off its stand. She then hopped off the stage in one leap, the crowd backing up to make room.

“Want to say that again, _baby_?”

Harry glanced backstage, looking for Niall for backup. Since he was nowhere in sight, he quickly handed his guitar over to Liam.

“I said–” He dared to take a step closer, then brushed a piece of hair from Wren’s neck as he leaned in closer. Wren pretended she was letting it happen, but her jaw was clenched and her blood was boiling. “Your tits look amazing,” he repeated, then reached around her waist and squeezed her ass.

Harry hopped down from the stage just in time to shove the guy backward. The crowd split as he fell into his friends. “Fuck off!” Harry snapped, but this guy was back on his feet like a boomerang.

“What are you going to do about it, asshole?” the guy said, trying to make himself look pretty tough despite the fact that none of his friends were coming to his defence. No one in the crowd was, either. 

The guy shoved Harry back, but before Harry could retaliate, Wren pushed him to the side and swung her first forward. It connected directly with the pervert’s jaw, knocking him flat on his back. The crowd gasped around them, and a few girls even clapped; ones that probably would’ve liked to throw a punch of their own.

“Ow, fuck!” Wren exclaimed, shaking her limp hand in the air. 

“Did you just punch him?!” Liam said with wide eyes as he jumped down next to them. A little late for backup, to be honest.

“Why don’t people talk about how much it hurts to throw a punch?” Wren squinted her eyes closed in pain. 

The guy’s friends came running towards him to check if he was okay. Blood splattered from his mouth when he spit, and it was likely that one or two of his teeth were now lying on the ground somewhere. He wiped more blood off his chin with the back of his hand, looking up at Wren in shock.

“That was a good hit,” Harry praised in minor disbelief. Not in that she wasn’t capable, but in the fact that that actually just happened.

“What the hell?” the creep shouted at her.

“There’s your fucking encore,” Wren spit into the mic before dropping it on the stage floor behind her.

Not wanting this to continue any further, Harry took Wren by the arm and rushed her up the side steps and backstage. Liam was close behind, looking over his shoulder to watch the aftermath they left back there. Shrugging Harry’s hand away, Wren walked faster towards their dressing room, dodging stagehands who wanted to know what exactly just happened out there. She pushed open the door and collapsed onto the couch with an exasperated sigh.

Instead of Niall waiting back here as Harry expected, it was Louis and Zayn who were hanging out in their dressing room.

“Wren!” Zayn exclaimed as soon as he saw her. He was mixing himself a drink at the snack table. “We saw what happened from side stage. That was badass, dude.”

She laughed, threading her fingers through her hair as she pushed it out of her face. “It felt pretty badass,” she said.

“Are you okay?” Louis asked, sounding much more concerned. He had jumped to his feet as soon as they walked in. “That guy was being pretty aggressive.”

“I’m fine,” she assured. “I mean, it was a little jarring and I think I might be dealing with a bruised hand tomorrow. Think it’ll look cool?”

Liam brought her over a water bottle and she took it with no hesitation, chugging about half of it in one go. “Are you sure?” he asked. “He was seriously harassing you. You could press charges.”

“Ha. Not likely.” She sat up and let her elbows rest on her knees, still hunched over. “I punched that asshole square in the jaw. That’s more justice than any legal system is going to get me. And it felt a hell of a lot better.” 

 

Since they still had to celebrate their last show, King Jane had planned a little after party in the theatre basement. The room was surrounded by cement brick walls and hard carpeted floors. There was a makeshift bar and those too-squishy couches that were in every dressing room. The smell of weed was overwhelming, but not unexpected. Niall was still M.I.A. since the end of their set, but according to the King Jane drummer, he was still hanging around the venue somewhere.

Harry, Louis, and Liam had crowded themselves around a table with a couple of the guys from King Jane to play a round of Quarters. As a self-proclaimed expert at the game, Louis had them all beat, making it in the glass for almost every one of his turns. It was starting to bring out the competitive spirit in Liam who had prided himself in being the reigning champion amongst their friends. Harry had decided to tap out early, leaving the guitarist of King Jane to referee Liam and Louis’ one-on-one Quarters showdown. 

As Louis lined up his next shot, Liam jokingly hovered his palms over the table. 

“If you hit the table I will shove this quarter up your nose,” Louis said, not breaking his eyes from their focus. Harry was sitting right next to him, so he scooted over to give him more room to make the shot.

“If you miss this one, I win,” Liam reminded him. 

“Then I won’t miss,” Louis said just before making his toss. It hit once on the table, once on the rim of the glass, then on the table again. “Fuck!” he shouted.

“Ha!” Liam exclaimed. “Pay up, bitch.”

Louis looked at him in over-dramatic shock. “No,” he said simply, then glanced away while tilting his drink to his mouth.

“What do you mean? We made a bet!” Liam looked insulted.

“That was before you called me a bitch.” He folded his arms together.

Harry snorted.

Liam leaned back in his seat, matching Louis’ posture. “I said what I said.”

“Now you’re being a bit of a bitch, Liam,” Harry told him.

“Yes, thank you,” Louis agreed sincerely.

Liam dropped his jaw, offended. “I am being bullied,” he said to their appointed referee, who just shrugged his indifference.

Harry watched from across the room as Wren approached their table, a disgruntled looking Niall in her wake. He hadn’t seen much of either of them all night, so he waved them over with a smile.

“Where have you been?” Harry asked, but Niall wasn’t returning the smile.

“We need to have a band meeting,” he said. “Now.”

Harry and Liam exchanged confused looks. Wren didn’t seem too clear about what was going on either, so they stood up and followed him to a quieter area down a short hallway of the basement.

“I was talking with the theatre manager earlier tonight, and King Jane’s manager as well,” Niall began, folding his arms as he rested a shoulder against the wall. The other three just stared at him blankly, waiting for him to continue. 

“Are you kidding me?”

“What?” Wren said, taken aback.

“Do you guys not give a shit about our reputation as a band? This is a _paid_ gig we’re at. Like, an actual job. You can’t hop off of the stage and get into a fight somewhere you’re working! What happens when word spreads, huh? ‘Don’t hire these losers for a show unless you want the cops called!’”

“Dude, just let us explain,” Harry tried, but Niall was visibly upset.

“Seriously, guys? Punching a dude in the crowd? How the hell did that even happen?”

“Some asshole was harassing Wren,” Liam told him with a bite in his tone. “He had his hands all over her so she was defending herself. I’d say that’s a pretty fucking valid reason to knock a guy’s teeth out.”

Niall raised his eyebrows at Wren, looking almost impressed. “You knocked his teeth out?”

Wren shrugged. “One or two.”

“He deserved it,” Harry continued explaining. “I shoved the guy, he shoved back, then Wren punched him and we got out of there. That’s it. It’s not like anyone was arrested.”

Niall took in a strained breath. “But you guys still put on a scene out there and the manager was pissed. We’re lucky _he_ didn’t call the cops. Then there would’ve been a goddamn arrest. How am I supposed to explain that half of our members can’t control their tempers? What does that say about us?”

Liam started shaking his head. “You don’t get it, man.”

“And we’re fine, thanks for asking,” Wren snapped with a glare. That seemed to get Niall’s attention.

“I-” Niall began, then dropped his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” he said genuinely. “ _Are_ you okay?”

“I’ll be better when I’m not talking to you.” Wren pushed past him to get to the stairs. “Find your own way home. All of you. I’m taking the van.”

“Wren, wait!” Liam called after her, jogging to catch up. She didn’t turn around, but he kept talking as he followed her up the steps.

Niall turned to Harry as if that was where he was going to get sympathy. “You do get where I’m coming from, right? I don’t want us blacklisted because of this. We don’t exactly have the career for a mistake like this to not—”

“Just shut up for a second.” Harry put his hand up even though he was speaking rather calm. “Turn off the asshole manager persona for one second. It was a long night for all of us, okay? You think we wanted any of that to happen? Of course not. But we’re glad everyone’s okay. If there are repercussions then we’ll deal with them as they come.”

Niall took a deep breath, then let out a sigh as he took a step backward. Harry could see it in his eyes that he knew he was right. He could sense the incoming apology too, but the worry about their possible fractured success that was outweighing it.

“We can talk about this later,” Niall eventually said before walking away, but Harry didn’t see why they needed to. It was done. It happened, and Harry wouldn’t have handled the situation any differently.

Maybe some members of Cherry Pez just had different ideas of what mattered when it came to success.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry collapsed against the backroom wall once the doors were closed for the night. Thursday nights were always busy, but Thursday nights with one bartender were actual hell. Sweat prickled around his hairline and by his eyes, and his throat was absolutely killing him from taking so many orders. He needed nothing more than a towel and the tallest glass of ice water he could find.

_ Reminder to self: get better shoes for work. I’m not going home with swollen feet anymore. _

“Never leave me alone at the bar again,” Harry said dramatically when Zayn found him back there. Harry stepped to the sink to splash a handful of water on his face.

“Blame Louis, not me,” Zayn defended as he leaned against the door frame. He looked just as beat, if not more.

For the first time since even Zayn could remember, Louis had to call in sick to work. According to Zayn, he sounded pretty bad on the phone, and this was Louis they were talking about, so it couldn’t have been a lie. It would take a lot for him to call in sick. He could break a bone on the way to his shift and he’d still probably show up. But since they were down a manager, Zayn was next in command to take over. He had done management duties before, but he’d been there long enough to fake his way through the night. However, he lacked Louis’ ability to easily jump between tasks and help out at the bar when need be, which meant Harry was left suffering for the night.

“At least you made pretty good tips,” Zayn said, pointing to his tip cup as he left the room again.

He was right, Harry made about double the tips he normally would in a night, but it was not worth the extra work he endured to get them. He brought the cup over to Louis’ office where Zayn decided to do cash-out first so they could clean up together after. Harry had already gotten most of the tables cleared close to closing, hoping to shorten the time it would take to get out of there.

He dumped his tips on the table, reaching for the usual note before he got to counting. They had been playing a game of tic-tac-toe over the course of the week on one side of the paper. On the other was a note from Louis saying  _ Best two out of three?  _ since Louis was going to win in his next turn. He scribbled his last O and Louis’ X before drawing a line through it, then started a new game next to his losing one. This time, he decided he would be Xs. He smiled as he folded it up and left it at the corner of the table so he would remember to drop it in Louis’ tip cup on his way back.

Zayn was looking at him with his eyebrows raised. “You guys are still keeping up with those notes, huh?” he observed.

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged. His cheeks felt warm like he’d just been caught. “I don’t know. It’s just a thing we do.”

“Just a thing, eh?” He leaned back in his chair.

“If you’re trying to imply something here, remember who you’re talking to,” Harry said. His own density never did elude him.

Well, in his mind, anyway.

“I’m just saying to… be careful,” Zayn said slowly.

Harry stilled from counting. “What do I need to be careful about?”

“Make sure the things you say and do mean what you want them to mean,” Zayn told him, hoping Harry got the message.

“It’s a game of tic-tac-toe,” Harry stated with half of a laugh.

“Yeah, but your friendship with Louis has been a lot more than a game of tic-tac-toe, wouldn’t you say?”

Harry looked back down at the table, trying not to think about that statement while at the same time thinking about it way too much. He scooped up a handful of quarters and handed it to Zayn. 

“Five dollars,” he said.

 

With only minimal pleading necessary, Harry convinced Wren to drive him to Louis’ place on her way to pick up her girlfriend, Violet. They had started going out for lunch every Friday, and Wren had the excited nerves of a first date every time. That’s how you could tell she really liked this girl. 

Harry knew that Violet lived not too far from Louis’ apartment building. Before they left, he called Louis and told him he would be stopping by to bring him soup and tea. Zayn was right about how sick he sounded over the phone. His voice was almost lost by now. It was never fun being seen when you’re sick, but neither was getting up off the couch to take care of yourself. Lucky for Louis, Harry didn’t mind playing nurse.

For her trouble, Harry bought a Wren a coffee when they made their stop, as well as one for himself because it was noon and he only left work seven hours ago. Wren dropped him off at the front doors, and Harry managed to slip in just as someone else was leaving so he wouldn’t have to use the call box. He had been here so many times that Louis’ neighbours almost seemed as familiar as his own.

“It’s open!” Louis called, hearing the knock. Harry pushed his back against the door to let himself in, a drink tray in one hand and a paper bag of food in the other.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Harry asked, heading straight for the kitchen counter to put everything down. The TV was playing quietly in the living room and Louis was in a mess of blankets on the couch.

“Like I drank gasoline and sneezed fire,” Louis said, his raspy voice sounding worse in person.

“Would you like some lemon ginger tea to drink instead?”

“That sounds gross, but yes,” Louis said, half sitting up on the couch. 

Harry grabbed two spoons from the drawer and tried to balance everything in his hands so he’d only have to make one trip to bring everything over. “I didn’t know what you liked for soup so I brought both chicken noodle and vegetable.”

“Chicken noodle, please.” He leaned forward to pick up the one labelled as such. “You have the vegetable.”

“You can save it for later if you want,” Harry offered.

“It’s okay. Have lunch with me.” 

Louis slurped a tiny amount off the spoon as he leaned back with the bowl, then turned the volume on the TV back up a few notches. Harry sat on the end of the couch by Louis’ feet, taking the vegetable soup with him. He noticed then how pale Louis’ face was, and the redness around his eyes. While he was sitting up, he had his head rested on the cushion behind him for support. Despite how deserving he appeared to be for complaining, he was in relatively high spirits.

“What are we watching?” Harry asked.

“ _ Princess Bride _ ,” Louis said. “Ever seen it?”

“Never.”

“Well, you’re right on time because I just started it. Got any plans for today?”

“Just whatever you’re doing,” Harry grinned.

Louis pressed play on the VCR remote, then sat back with his tea in his hands, leaving the soup to cool off a bit more on the table. The first slurp didn’t go down without leaving a mild burn on his tongue. Pulling the other blanket off of the back of the couch, he wrapped it around his legs and leaned against the pillow to watch. Once he was comfortable, he took the first sip of his tea, being much more careful as to not burn any more flesh. However, it was slightly too bitter for his taste, so he started to get up.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked.

“I was just going to add some honey.”

“I’ll get it,” he said, standing up faster than Louis could anyway. He took the cup from his hand before he could protest.

“You don’t have to—”

“Where do you keep the honey? Top left cupboard by the fridge?” Harry assumed because that was where he kept the sugar for the coffee and the spices he cooked with.

“Should be there,” Louis said. “Don’t worry, I took a disinfectant cloth to all the handles before you got here.”

Finding a teaspoon in the drawer, Harry used it to measure from the squeeze bottle and stirred it until it was completely mixed. He also grabbed a sleeve of saltines he found in the pantry in case they wanted some for their soup. While he was there, he made a mental note of what he could make for dinner if he ended up staying that long. Louis wasn’t in any shape to be cooking, or doing much for himself at all, really. When he tried to stand up, it looked like the blood had rushed too quickly to his head.

“What kind of medicine are you taking?” Harry asked as he brought the cup back.

Louis thanked him before answering. “I, uh… I haven’t had the chance to go to the store.”

If he had said something, Harry could’ve made the extra stop on his way over here. But of course, he didn’t want to be too much trouble even though Harry made it clear he didn’t mind going out of his way. Besides, Cherry Pez had cancelled practice since Wren had to take an evening shift at work tonight. Not a lot they could do without a lead singer. Harry wasn’t lying when he said he had nothing else going on today.

“Do you prefer liquid cold medicine or pills?” Harry asked, grabbing his jacket off the chair where he left it.

“You really don’t have to do all of this for me,” Louis insisted, still looking on from the couch. Right then, he grabbed a tissue just in time for the huge sneeze he let out, followed by a painful sounding fit of coughing.

“Liquid or pills?” Harry asked again, his hand on the doorknob.

“Liquid, please,” Louis groaned, falling back in exhaustion as he grabbed one more tissue for his nose.

There was a corner store just around the block from Louis’ building, so Harry was gone and back in about ten minutes. When he walked through the door again, Louis’ keys in hand, Deja was there to greet him. She rubbed her cheek against his legs as he set the bag down on the counter. Along with the medicine, Harry also picked up a bottle of ginger ale, extra boxes of tissues, some popsicles because they tended to help the throat, and more packets of lemon ginger tea. He didn’t realize until Louis emerged from his room that he was no longer on the couch.

“You look like you’re improving,” Harry told him, spotting the wet hair from a shower as Louis slumped onto one of the stools.

“Steam does temporary wonders,” Louis said. Noticing the bottle of ginger ale on the counter, he reached for it in confusion. “I think this is for an upset stomach, not a cold,” he told him.

“You could have both,” Harry suggested.

“I don’t have both, but I do like ginger ale.” He made a weak attempt to open the bottle, then gave up when his usual strength wouldn’t agree with him. “I’ll stick with tea for now,” Louis decided.

Harry opened the box of rocket pops and handed a wrapped one across the counter. “How about this?” he offered.

Louis snatched it out of his hand, the quickest he had moved all day. “You’re a genius,” he said, unwrapping the paper. “You never have to leave.”

At the moment, Harry wasn’t planning on it.

The two of them returned to their respective sides of the couch with their own blankets and pressed play on the movie again. About halfway through, Harry got up to heat up Louis’ soup for him since he never finished it, insisting that he should consume something besides water and sugar today. There were no protests from Louis’ end, who was getting desperate to feel better, but having the company of a friend was a nice distraction.

Louis fell asleep halfway through the movie, totally knocked out by the cold medicine, so Harry took it upon himself to get the place cleaned up. At first he just washed the dishes from their lunch, then he decided to tidy up the rest of the kitchen, wipe the counters, and get the dry dishes put away. He made the extra effort to keep quiet, but it seemed like Louis would pretty much sleep through anything anyway.

After warming up his coffee from earlier in the microwave, Harry sat at the dining table that rarely got used. It was in front of a tall window that had a beautiful view of the city, especially during a sunset, but when he was alone, Louis preferred to eat at the couch. Harry glanced out at the day that had gotten rainy and gloomy, a bad mixture with the leftover slushes of snow. How nice would it be to actually be able to afford a place like this? Harry thought. Or something like a big penthouse suite that came with a lineup of cars in the underground parkade. Money was never something Harry considered when he thought about success, at least not in large quantities, but it wasn’t like he never fantasized. He fantasized in the way a child would fantasize about being a princess. Basically unattainable, but that didn’t stop them from marching around the house in a gown and crown. The fantasy tended to be more fun than reality, anyway.

From where he was sitting, Harry could see Louis’ face squished into the pillow he had brought out for him from his bedroom. He found himself staring longer than he’d like to admit, and realized that Louis was someone he would do a lot more for than just take care of him when he was sick. Louis was the kind of person who was rare to stumble upon in a lifetime. Someone you can be so different from, yet so compatible with. They could always joke together, and offer support in every part of each other’s lives. Not to mention how much time they had spent together since meeting. The times they hung out were nothing special, really. A quick phone call to ask “Hey, want to pick up some groceries with me?” “Want to hang out and play on the Nintendo?” “Do you feel like getting a bite to eat?” But it was constant, and Harry was always eager to say yes. He liked what they talked about, he liked making Louis laugh, and he liked hearing about his life, his thoughts, his passions. The idea that he could be one of the stories Louis tells one day was kind of nice, but he didn’t want their friendship to end in nothing but stories in past tense. He wanted it to last. He wanted to tell the stories with him.

Zayn’s words hit him again: to make sure what he did and said actually meant what he intended. He never told Louis a lie, and that was what made him feel a little uneasy. The meanings were becoming blurred between intent, want, and truth. Right now, the truth was that the only place in the world Harry wanted to be was here, and he wasn’t exactly sure what that meant.

By the time Louis woke up, Harry had a can of chili cooking in a pot on the stove. He added extra spice to it, having heard that spicy food helped to clear the sinuses. It might’ve been the smell that woke Louis up because he was walking into the kitchen before Harry even realized he was off the couch.

“You’re still here?” Louis said as he reached into the cupboard for a glass so he could get some orange juice from the fridge. “Did you clean?”

“Just a little bit. I figured you wouldn’t like the mess.”

“Harry, I really appreciate all of this, but don’t feel like you have to take care of me. I’m a big boy, you know,” he added with a lighthearted smile.

“I don’t mind,” Harry said happily. “Just, you know, don’t forget what I did for you next time I call into work.”

“Ha-ha,” Louis mocked as took a tiny sip of his juice. “What are you making?”

“Chilli and half a bottle of cayenne pepper.” He was still standing at the stove, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon.

“Please tell me that is also a joke.”

“It is very spicy,” Harry said matter-of-factly. He had added at least a tablespoon and mixing over heat surely only increased the intensity. “Want to try it?”

“No.”

Harry laughed as he picked up one of the bowls he had set out on the counter. He had initially intended on this being a meal for both of them, but that was before he got the idea for the spice. There had to be a box of mac and cheese around here somewhere. 

“I thought you wanted to make me feel better, not kill me,” Louis said as the bowl was being placed in front of him. He picked up the spoon and stirred it around a few times, taking a scoop and watching it fall back into the bowl. “I can  _ smell  _ how spicy it is.”

“It’s good for you! It’ll clear you right up. Plus, you need the protein.”

“Thanks for the advice, Dr. Harry.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry deadpanned.

“You better be eating this too. Preemptively clear  _ your _ sinuses because I don’t know how you’re going to not get sick after hanging around here all day.”

Harry wasn’t too worried about that. He had cleaned everything that could carry germs thoroughly, and even if he did get sick, he could handle a cold. With the other bowl in his hand, he scooped out what was left in the pot to serve himself. Just to prove a point, he made a show of scooping some into his mouth, but his eyes went wide once he realized what he had done.

“See!” Louis said.

“It’s fine,” Harry choked out, his eyes starting to water. “I like it,” he lied.

“Mhmm,” Louis hummed, taking small bites of his. Despite his dislike of how spicy it was, he was still going to try to eat some of it. “Are you going to head out soon or hang out a bit longer?” he wondered.

“I can stay if you still want company.”

“You know, I normally would hate having someone around when I’m sick, but it’s kind of nice that you’re here,” Louis said thoughtfully. For a brief moment after he looked like he regretted his words, so he glanced back at his bowl to scoop out just one bean. 

Harry smiled, not sure how to respond to that. While he was so concerned with what the things he said meant, he hadn’t considered that what Louis said could mean something else as well. 

This felt like too much to internally debate over a bowl of chili while trying to take care of a sick friend.

“If you end up wanting to crash here, I finished cleaning out that extra bedroom. There’s a spare bed in there now.”

“I didn’t know you were turning it into a spare room.”

“Actually, I’m going to have someone staying there for a little bit. Do you remember me telling you about my friend who was really sick?” Louis asked, and Harry nodded. “He’s going to be going through some pretty intense treatment soon and he doesn’t have a very consistent living situation, so I’m going to let him stay here during it.”

“I know it’s none of my business, but didn’t you say he was only eighteen? Doesn’t he have family who should be helping him out?”

Louis shook his head slowly, his eyes closed. “I met him when I used to volunteer at a youth shelter a couple of years ago. He was a runaway, but now he’s like a little brother to me. Sometimes people have to find new families, you know? I’m more than willing to take him in.”

“He’s lucky to have someone like you,” Harry said.

“He’s a really good kid,” Louis nodded, not wanting to accept the praise. “Don’t mention it to anyone, but I’ve been taking care of all the finances involved with his medical care. Really, I didn’t have a choice. He has nothing and he’s terrified.”

“Oh,” Harry said in surprise. “That’s… It’s good that you’re doing something.”

“His name is Mickey,” Louis told him. “You’ll probably meet him when he’s here.”

“I’d love to meet him,” Harry quickly agreed, realizing he was reaching the territory of tiptoeing too much around the subject. Since he was easily prone to saying the wrong thing, he often found himself trying too hard to say the right thing.

“My throat is not cooperating with all of this talking,” Louis said, standing from the stool and taking his bowl with him. “Let’s go watch some TV before I knock myself out with more medicine.”

Taking their spots once again on the couch, Louis flipped through the channels until he had reached the Cartoon Network, leaving it there because  _ Scooby-Doo _ was on. Harry never would be able to watch that show without remembering Niall and Liam’s infamous fight. Neither of them was right, in his opinion, but the last thing that argument needed was a different opinion.

Eventually, they had both fallen asleep in that same spot. Louis curled up against the armrest his pillow was on, and Harry using Louis’ blanketed legs as a pillow. They had slept until morning because it was the sun that woke them up. No need for the spare room, Harry supposed. Surprisingly, Louis had gone the whole night without a coughing fit. It was likely that cold medicine that kept him in a near comatose state. 

When he first opened his eyes, Louis was still quite comfortable and a bit sleepy, so he didn’t move until Harry whispered, “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” he replied at a louder volume, but his throat couldn’t manage much.

“Are you feeling better?” Harry asked, sitting up with a yawn.

“Sort of,” Louis admitted, his voice noticeably more nasally. The box in front of him was out of tissues, so Harry stood up while volunteering to find another.

“Want some more lemon ginger tea?” he asked

“I suppose,” Louis sighed. The go-to sickness cures weren’t exactly his favourite choice for food and beverages. Honestly, he would rather just sleep and drink room temperature water while he was sick because any illness made him completely lose his appetite, but Harry made it quite clear that he wasn’t going to get better without any energy for his immune system to work with. 

“Do you have band practice today?” Louis wondered as he sat up, hoping the upright position would drain his sinuses for the millionth time. He was starting to forget what it felt like to be able to breathe out of his nose. Technically, he was feeling better than yesterday, but there were few worse feelings than waking up in the morning when you’re sick.

“I do, and I should probably go soon, actually. The bus leaves on the hour.” He glanced at the stove to look at the time. Louis didn’t even want to know how long he slept for because it would only make him feel worse. “Do you need anything before I go?”

“I’m sure I can manage.”

“I’ll come back around seven-ish. Do you want me to pick anything up from the store?”

He didn’t expect Harry to come back again. After all that he did for him, there was no reason for him to. He already brought Louis everything he needed and kept him company for a little while, but it wasn’t like Louis was bedridden. He could get up and make himself a cup of tea or some soup if he needed to. But he also liked being taken care of by someone who wasn’t seeing him as a burden. He would never say no to having Harry around. 

Louis said he didn’t need anything so Harry took off shortly after, leaving Louis alone with the TV remote and his thoughts. He didn’t like overthinking things, and he especially hated the fact that every time Harry left the room, he was still the only thing on his mind. It was ridiculous and Louis knew it. Falling for a straight guy would do nothing but leave him with a broken heart, and that’s exactly where he was headed. His mind liked to trick him every time they were together. It liked to tell him that Harry spending so much time with him meant that he wanted more out of the friendship they created. That his smiles were paired with an implied wink, and that every time they made prolonged eye contact it meant “I’m thinking about how your lips would taste if I kissed them right now.”

He felt like a fucking moron.

The thing was, he didn’t even know if it was Harry he liked the fact that being around him got rid of the loneliness, and that only made him feel worse. Of course he found him attractive, but that didn’t matter because he wasn’t gay, and Louis had to get over whatever fantasy he was making up in his mind. He just wished that Harry would stop looking at him in a way that made him think he might not be so out of his mind after all.

Maybe he should’ve started pursuing other interests before it was too late.

Louis must’ve watched TV for hours, falling in and out of sleep and going through another half a box of tissues. He made himself a sandwich for lunch and tried to drag himself into the shower because he wasn’t lying when he said steam did wonders. Since Harry was coming back, he took another disinfectant wipe to the counters, handles, remote, and everything else he touched in case Harry was still yet to catch the bug. He tried not to overthink why he would risk getting sick just to take care of him.

When Harry eventually returned, Louis was already asleep again, Deja snoozing happily on the blanket next to him. Practise had gone great, and they even got another song written. Once they got all the kinks worked out, it would be on future setlists for sure. Niall was in talks with another club about getting a new weekly gig, and Wren was making phone calls with every connection she had. Times were becoming exciting, and he couldn’t wait to tell Louis all about it as soon as he woke up. 

On his way back, Harry brought more chicken noodle soup from the same cafe he stopped at yesterday since Louis seemed to enjoy it. Because he was yet to shower today, he decided to leave the soup on the counter with a little note before rinsing off in the guest bathroom, in case Louis woke up before he was out of the shower. 

He couldn’t remember what drawer Louis kept for miscellaneous items, so he searched until he found one with pens under the microwave. He needed paper as well, but there was no notepad, so he decided to use the back of a folded up scrap that was sitting on top. When he unfolded it, however, he realized it was a note Louis must’ve been saving.

_ It was nice to see you again tonight. I’m happy to hear that you’re doing well. Call me sometime and maybe we can meet to catch up. -Trysten _

Below that was a phone number, and even though it was none of his business, Harry immediately wanted to know if Louis made that call. He didn’t know the details of their breakup, or whether they were still able to remain friends, but the way Zayn told the story, he got the impression that they weren’t. When an ex comes back into your life while you’re doing better, chances are, they’re doing worse. 

But it had been a month since they all went out that night, and Louis had never thrown the note away. He must’ve kept it for a reason. A month is a long time to wait before calling someone, and a long time to keep a paper that you planned on throwing away.

Harry put the note back and instead wrote on a napkin from the cafe. He left it next to the soup before disappearing into the bathroom without disturbing Louis’ sleep. Whatever was happening between Louis and Trysten was none of Harry’s business, but that didn’t stop him from dwelling on it for the rest of the day. He really wished it would have.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: mild homophobia. If you would like to skip the scene I would recommend you stop reading when they get to the restaurant and pick up again when they're in the taxi.

“Our flight should be arriving around two in the afternoon on Friday. Will you be meeting us at the airport or should we just get a car straight to our hotel?”

“Actually, I thought—”

“We booked a room downtown. Is that close to where you are?”

“How did you—”

“We’re just staying the weekend, so I hope that’s enough notice to get your place tidied up. Oh, Josie is so excited to visit you, and—”

“MOM!” Harry said into the phone, hoping to finally gain her attention. The other end went quiet, so he continued. “It’s nice that you want to visit, but you can’t just spring it on me like this. It’s not like there’s a holiday coming up.”

“Do we need a reason to visit our only son?” she countered, which was a hard point to argue with even though Harry wanted to say yes.

“This is just a friendly visit, right? Not a checkup?” Harry wondered cautiously.

“Honey, you’re a grown man. You’ve been in charge of your own life for a while now. We just want to see you, is all. You can show us around your new home and tour the city. What was your roommate’s name? Louis? Bring him along too.”

Shit.

 

That brought Harry to a quick chat with Louis before his Wednesday night shift. It involved a lot of explaining that Louis’ still-recovering mind didn’t totally understand.

“You told your parents that I was your roommate instead of Wren?” Louis said as they were removing chairs from the tabletops and getting ready to open the doors. 

“I couldn’t tell them I was living with a girl because they wouldn’t believe me if I told them we weren’t dating, and I couldn’t tell them she’s gay because… Well…”

“So why did you tell them it was me? Did you forget that she and I have that in common?”

“They’ve heard about Niall and Liam already and, I don’t know, you were the first name that popped into my head.”

Louis stopped and took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose as he rubbed his eyes. “And you need me to do what, exactly?”

“Pretend to live in Wren’s room for the weekend and come to dinner on Friday.” Louis began to turn around so he could find his clipboard of tasks, so Harry rushed up behind him with pleading eyes. “I can probably convince them you work the rest of the weekend so you’d be off the hook afterward. Wren already agreed to it and you barely have to do any lying.”

“You realize you’re asking me, a gay man, to hang out with a bunch of homophobic conservatives for a weekend?”

“They’re really not all that bad!” Harry tried to reason, but his voice had gotten significantly higher when he said it. “I’m asking you for a favour. Please.”

Louis thought about it for a moment, remembering that Harry had just spent all last weekend nursing him back to health, and how he wouldn’t mind spending a couple of days doing touristy things he never got to do in the city he spent most of his life in. With Harry, at that. Playing pretend could be kind of fun, he supposed. It wasn’t like he had a weekend jam-packed with other plans. 

“You’re lucky that I would do worse for you,” Louis eventually said.

Harry grinned excitedly. This was still something he very much didn’t want to do, but at least with Louis’ help, the next few days would be a hell of a lot easier.

 

And that’s what led him to Friday night dinner with his family, preluded by a visit to his apartment that was now spic and span and temporarily inhabited by two guys, just as his parents would expect.

Harry bought a half gallon of chocolate milk for his little sister, but also for himself since he never thought to buy it ‘just because’ until he put the carton in his basket. He was an adult now, who did his own shopping for his own apartment. He could buy whatever he wanted to fill that fridge with, and he wanted chocolate milk.

He was told by his mom that they would probably get to his place around four so he could show them where he lived before they all went out to dinner. No one had suggested that Harry make dinner, and he was more than happy with that.

Since his parents were nothing if not welcoming, they  _ insisted  _ Louis come along for the meal. So much so that it didn’t really seem like an option. Knowing their view of their son’s lifestyle, they probably assumed it had been a while since Harry and his friends last had a decent meal. Taking into account the location, Harry was pretty sure his parents couldn’t even afford to live in an apartment like Louis’, which only made the assumption that much funnier.

Speaking of Louis, he had decided to arrive early, mostly because he didn’t trust Harry’s definition of the word ‘clean’. He may not have enjoyed the company of conservative homophobes—was Louis being too harsh? He didn’t think so—but he did want Harry to make a proper attempt at impressing his parents. If anything, it would make this night go a whole lot smoother than what was expected.

Wren had left earlier in the day with the plan to spend the whole weekend at her girlfriend’s place. Technically, she didn’t have to spend the nights there as long as Harry’s parents didn’t make any surprise visits, but he had a feeling that she was just using this as an excuse for them to spend the weekend together. It was a pretty easy excuse.

“Do you have any refreshments to offer them when they get here?” Louis asked. He was snooping through the fridge as Harry walked around with a duster, lazily wiping whatever was visible. Moving things out of the way to get underneath or behind them was simply too much extra work.

“We’re going out for dinner with them. Why do we need refreshments?”

“Nothing to drink, even? A bottle of wine?”

“I bought Josie chocolate milk.”

Louis lifted up the container so Harry could see that it was now only half full. He was already very aware.

“They don’t drink wine, anyway,” Harry reminded him. “They’re very strict with their beliefs.”

“Do you think maybe you should get rid of the case of beer in here, then?”

“Right! I forgot that was in there. Can you put it under Wren’s bed for now?” Not that his parents were holding on to hope that Harry was still practicing their religion, but it was a matter of respect, in his eyes.

“Sure,” Louis said, pulling the whole box from the fridge. He took two cans out and placed them on the counter before carrying the rest down the hallway. “I haven’t had to hide beer from any parents since high school.”

“I think you forgot a couple,” Harry called after him as he returned the duster to its rightful spot under the sink.

Louis reappeared in the short hallway with a grin. “Those are for us. You need something to help you chill the fuck out before your family gets here.”

“You’re right,” Harry sighed. “Remind me to find some mints after, okay?”

Louis smiled the request, trying to hold in his laughter. They each cracked open a can and took a long first gulp. Even the cheapest of beers tasted delicious right now, to Harry.

Of course that would have to be the same moment that the doorbell rang. The two of them stilled with wide eyes, glancing between the door and each other. What were they doing here already? They were an hour too early and there was no way Harry was mentally ready for this yet. But he could see through the window on the door that it was, in fact, them.

“Shit, we gotta get rid of these,” he said, looking frantically at the beers they were holding.

Louis tilted his can up and started chugging.

“Not like that!” Harry exclaimed. “Give me that.” He grabbed the can from Louis' hand and ran them both to Wren’s room to add them to the collection under the bed.

“I  _ was  _ getting rid of it,” Louis countered. But it didn’t matter because Harry was already back and trying to smooth out his shirt before he stepped forward to answer the door. 

One deep breath. A fake simile.  _ You got this. _

“HARRY!” Josie exclaimed, running to leap into her brother’s arms.

“I missed you, kid!” Harry replied, swinging her around once before he put her down. She hugged him again anyway, throwing him off balance as she squeezed his hips tight. The smile he wore when he saw her was definitely not fake.

Then he had to look at his parents, who were offering him those flat-mouthed smiles you give whenever you’re uncomfortable. Good to know that the feeling was mutual. 

“Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad.” He hugged his mom first, then gave his dad a firm handshake because physical affection was never something the men in his family tended to be fans of.

“Hi, I’m Josie,” she said, walking right up to Louis, who was leaning on the pillar between the kitchen and living room.

“I’m Louis,” he replied with a wave. “I’ve heard you kick ass at Mario.”

“Ahem,” Harry coughed, making Louis quickly realize his mistake.

“Oh, sorry!” Louis covered his mouth. He looked in embarrassment at Harry’s parents who didn’t seem to fully hear the comment anyway. They wouldn’t have minded if it weren’t for the presence of an eight-year-old. The eight-year-old couldn’t care less.

“It’s okay,” Josie told him, then blocked her mouth with the side of her hand. “Mommy has to put money into the swear jar a lot, but she never catches it when I say things like f–”

“Alright! Mom, Dad, this is my roommate, Louis,” Harry said, hoping to derail this conversation before it went any further. Josie may have technically been the golden child, but she was still related to Harry at the core. The swear jar was introduced to their household in his pre-teen years, after all.

“Very nice to meet you,” Harry’s mom said as they took turns shaking hands. Louis put on his best overly-polite smile as they exchanged in pleasantries. As long as they could all avoid politics and religion as conversation topics for the weekend, everyone should’ve been able to get along just fine.

“Feel free to sit down, guys,” Harry offered, showing them to the living room.

Josie subtly, yet desperately asked Louis where the bathroom was, so he pointed her down the hall. “There’s some  _ Archies _ in there if the adults are boring you,” he whispered next to her ear. With an excited grin, Josie took off running.

While his parents sat on the couch, Harry and Louis sat in the chairs that were on opposing sides of the room. No one was sure how to proceed without increasing the awkwardness between them. Harry didn’t know how to be a host, especially to people like his parents, and Louis still wasn’t sure what exactly was off-limits for conversation. He wasn’t the one who needed to make a good impression, here. His only purpose was to facilitate in Harry’s innocent lie. Now that he thought about it, probably to be his moral support while he tried to get through this apparently stressful weekend, as well.

Harry’s mother looked around with a wide trying-way-too-hard smile on her face. Neither of them had said anything about his place, and Harry had a feeling it would stay that way. They were firm believers in the old moral: ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say, say nothing at all.’

With his eyebrows pulled together in confusion, Harry’s father reached into the couch cushion next to him to fish for whatever must’ve been poking him uncomfortably. When his hand returned, it was holding the cup of a lacy black bra.

Harry’s face turned bright red.

_ Fucking Wren… _

The tension in the room was just twisting tighter. Both of his parents, who had likely never seen a piece of such lingerie—that’s what Harry liked to believe, anyway—looked with wide eyes between the boys for answers.

“Um…” Harry said, as if he could explain this at all. What excuse would he be able to make up? That a friend of his had innocently left her bra at his place? In the couch cushion? Recent enough to only be found now? He didn’t even want to know what assumptions his poor parents were making in their minds.

“That’s my… girlfriend’s,” Louis quickly said, forming the lie at the same time as the words came out of his mouth. “Sorry, she was folding laundry on the couch.” He stood up to take it from Harry’s dad so he could stop holding it like it was contaminated. 

“Oh, okay,” his mom let out a relieved laugh.

“Yeah, don’t worry. We only have sex in the shower and on the kitchen floor.”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut in frustration while his dad let out an uncomfortable cough. It was a good thing that they didn’t have to like Louis; they just had to know of his existence. Harry made a mental note to make him regret that comment later. 

Louis seemed pretty pleased with himself at the moment, though. After all, he was sitting on the knowledge that two people he was in the presence of didn’t believe he deserve some of the basic human rights. Could you blame him for wanting to make them a little uncomfortable?

“Can I get anyone a drink?” Harry offered. “Coffee? Tea? Chocolate milk?”

“Coffee would be great,” his father said.

Harry stood up, patting Louis’ shoulder as he passed him. “Would you mind helping me in the kitchen?” he asked.

“Sure thing!” Louis left the bra behind on the chair as he leapt to his feet.

Once they were in relative privacy, Harry sighed as he reached into the cupboard for the coffee grounds. “Are you trying to kill me?” he said.

“Don’t blame me! You’re the one who forgot to clean up after having company over.”

“It’s from Wren!” he whisper-yelled. “I don’t have that kind of company over. Besides, we share that couch.”

Louis still appeared to be quite amused by the situation, but even more so once Harry confirmed that it was, in fact, Wren’s fault for the embarrassment. Not Harry’s. “You know she probably put that there on purpose just to fuck with you.”

Harry turned to the sink to get water for the pot. “I’m going to fill her room with rats,” he declared.

Louis snorted as pulled out four coffee mugs, enough for each of them. He also made sure to get a glass for Josie who would surely want some chocolate milk once she was finished with that  _ Archie  _ comic. “I promise I’ll be on my best behaviour the rest of the night,” he said, a teasing look in his eye. That look alone made Harry soften up as soon as he glanced his way.

“You know they’re going to ask about your apparent girlfriend now. Are you going to create a whole character backstory?”

“Oh, of course,” Louis said confidently. “I’m committed. We met a few years ago, back in college. She was driving to New York and I needed to catch a ride. She was friends with my girlfriend at the time, who set the meeting up. We bickered the whole drive, wondering if men and women really could  _ just  _ be friends, but ultimately parting ways on bad terms. Somehow, for years after that, we kept bumping into each other. In airports, through friends... For a long time we were just that, but when—”

“This seems very detailed for a made-up story,” Harry pointed out, an eyebrow raised.

“You’ve never seen  _ When Harry Met Sally _ , have you?”

“Nope.”

“Figures,” Louis sighed dramatically. “I’m calling her Sally.”

“Just make it believable,” Harry said pointedly. “Rats can’t be that cheap.”

Somehow, after all that, Louis was still invited out to dinner with the family. They went to a restaurant on the pier despite the fact that it was still cold outside, but Harry’s parents wanted a view of the ocean as they ate. Harry told Louis that he could still order a drink with dinner without insulting his family, but he chose not to. Harry wouldn’t be drinking either since he was still afraid to in front of his parents, but he definitely wished he was. That one sip of beer definitely did not do enough to take the edge off. But in the end, less they knew about his life here in Seattle, the better. They weren’t foolish enough to believe he was going to church regularly, but they didn’t need to know about all of the things he was doing that they would call sins.

He wasn’t just talking about drinking.

They didn’t ask about the details of his life that Harry thought actually mattered. Not about his band or his friends that also made up his band. That meant that they wouldn’t know about the fact that Cherry Pez finally recorded a demo and had just finished a regional tour. They definitely wouldn’t know about the fight he almost got into on that tour, or what he did for his birthday. He couldn’t share what he didn’t want to know, but that also meant he couldn’t share his successes. Until he could—if he ever could—they were just left in a limbo of lies and mediocrity.       

So instead, that was what they asked about: all the lies Harry had told them, still believing them to true. Harry really wished he had filled Louis in on more of those details. Then again, they were details he could barely keep track of on his own.

“So, how’s work treating you?” Harry’s dad asked after they all ordered their food. “Hey, maybe we should’ve gone there for dinner tonight! What was the name of it again, honey?” He turned to his wife.

“It was Italian, right? Something to do with meatballs?”

Louis smirked into his water glass as he took a sip, side-eyeing Harry. Something about being around parents turns your humour into that of a twelve-year-old’s.

“Pasta Castle!” his dad blurted, which actually did sound like a much better name.

“No, it was Parmesan Palace,” Josie corrected as she coloured in a cartoon fish on her placemat with a crayon. “I listen to you, Harry,” she said sweetly.

“It’s good,” Harry told them. “Just normal work, I guess.”

Louis looked at him curiously, hoping to subtly ask what job he had told them he was working. Harry put his palm under the glass he was holding to signify serving, which Louis picked up on right away with a nod.

“And what is it that you do, Louis?” Harry’s dad looked at him next.

Louis looked like he so much wanted to make a joke. It was sitting at the tip of his tongue. Just any string of words that would make them shift in their seats. But for Harry, he would behave. They were his family, after all, and Louis couldn’t hate them purely through association. He could only hate their beliefs.

“I’m a server as well,” Louis said. “That’s how we met. We’d been working together for a while and he was looking for a new place to live around the same time I was looking for a new roommate.”

Speaking of servers, theirs came back to fill their water mid-conversation. He wore a pleasant smile as he completed the task, then kindly asked if they needed anything else before ensuring that their meals should be out soon.

Once he was gone, Harry’s father leaned forward in his chair to whisper to the table. “Bit of an odd one, isn’t he?” He pointed with his thumb in the direction that the server left. 

“Odd how?” Harry’s mother creased her eyebrows together.

“You know…” He put his hands together to make the motion of wings flapping to mean “fairy”: the slur used by people who wouldn’t openly admit to their homophobia. Not that his parents ever tried to hide theirs.

Harry’s mother laughed and shooed his hands away, but no one else around the table was offering a reaction. Especially not Louis, who was staring at his folded hands on the table.

“Uh, Dad?” Harry said. “Let’s not go there, okay?”

“What? He can’t hear me.”

“It’s just a little unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“What’s the problem? If they choose a lifestyle of  _ sin _ , then they should know—”

“You don’t even know anything about him!” Harry exclaimed, still trying to keep his voice quiet. “You’re just making assumptions.”

His dad scoffed. “Please, it’s not like they even try to hide it anymore. It’s honestly di—”

“Dad!” He had to stop himself from hitting his fist on the table.

“Honey,” Harry’s mom put her hand over his dad’s to stop him. “Let’s not make a fuss in public, okay?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Louis with his eyes on the empty bread plate in front of him. He couldn’t read his expression, but just looking at him made Harry’s stomach twist into a guilty knot. Under the table, to avoid being so obvious, he reached his hand over and lightly brushed the side of Louis’ thigh with his knuckle. Louis’ head quickly turned towards him, but Harry didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he mouthed “I’m sorry” behind the fist that was covering his mouth. Louis must’ve understood because he softly tapped Harry’s hand with his own knuckle, and then they both pulled away.

After dinner, they all split a cab. It dropped Louis and Harry off first since Harry’s parents offered to pay the fare. The rest of the meal and ride home and become relatively quiet, but not enough to make the experience wholly unpleasant. Josie was always there to mellow any tension since she was incapable of actually detecting any. He just had to get through this weekend, Harry thought to himself on the drive home. Just one weekend and he could resume his life just as it was.

Harry and Louis waved his parents goodbye once they got to the top step in front of the door, knowing they’d be watching to make sure they got in safely. Harry unlocked the door, waited for the diver to speed off, then closed it again without walking in.

“Sit,” Harry instructed, dropping down one step and planting himself on the cold cement. He took a deep breath of the night air, letting it refresh him.

“That wasn’t overly terrible,” Louis sighed, taking the seat next to him. They were practically shoulder-to-shoulder, but it was a small step. “Your sister is a great kid.”

“She is,” Harry agreed. Everyone always thought so.

“Your dad is…”

“I know,” Harry shook his head. “I’m so sorry about that. Maybe if he knew, he would’ve kept his mouth shut, but…”

“It’s not your fault,” Louis assured him. “I’ve heard much worse directly to my face. Doesn’t excuse it, but I won’t be dwelling on it for weeks.”

“He can be a dick.”

“Well, your mom is nice,” Louis commented, hoping to bring out the brighter side.

“Everyone’s mom is nice.”

“Yeah, but I feel like your mom would’ve had homemade cookies ready for you when you got home from school and made the whole family sit down for breakfast in the morning.”

Harry smiled. “You’re assuming too much of my family.”

“She did make you homemade cookies, though, didn’t she?”

“Every Friday.”

“Of course!”

Both of them laughed at that, finding themselves staring out at the quiet, dark street in front of them. It wasn’t too late, but late enough that Josie had fallen asleep in the back of the cab during the drive home. Harry was feeling a little sleepy too, but he didn’t want to go inside yet because that would mean saying goodbye to Louis for the night and he was quite enjoying this time right now. The occasional roaring engine of a car speeding by, the streetlamps shining dim spotlights on the road below, the glow of the moon that always looked lost among the stars. Louis wasn’t making any indication that he was ready to go yet, either.

“Thank you for helping me out this weekend,” Harry eventually said. “I know there’s been no yelling or arguing, thank god, but my parents like to show their constant disapproval in other ways. Seeing them is hard sometimes, but it was a lot nicer with you there.”

Louis looked at him, his arms holding his legs to his chest, and smiled. “Any time. And I mean that.”

“Got any plans for Christmas next year?” he joked.

Harry leaned back on his hands, not feeling like he had anything else to say, so Louis filled the silence instead. “I do envy some parts of your family,” he admitted. “My parents split up when I was a little kid. My brother and I haven’t been that close for years. I know everyone’s family is fucked up in some way, but seeing that you guys could all sit down for a relatively peaceful meal together was kind of nice.”

Harry frowned. “I didn’t know that about your family.”

Louis didn’t look quite as upset. “The people in my life now are who matter. Contrary to popular belief, you  _ can  _ pick your family. All a family needs is love. No DNA required. ”

Harry thought of the people in his own life. The ones he saw every day, who he didn’t have to lie to just to converse with. Louis was right. They were his family too.

“I do love them,” Harry said, more to remind himself. “I think they just prefer a version of me that I made up a long time ago, and that guy is nothing like the one you’ve been hanging out with the last couple months.”

“I get that. Not being able to be your authentic self around people you love is hard. God knows I’ve been there.”

“They would hate the person they found out I became. Not the good faith-following boy they tried to raise me to be. When I was a teenager, I thought that was why they decided to have Josie.”

“You can’t believe that’s true,” Louis said, lifting a comforting hand to rest it on Harry’s shoulder.

He shrugged, but not enough to make Louis move his hand. “I did. Even if it is true, that’s okay.” Maybe the thought of it never did leave the back of his mind. “I feel like I owe them my love and respect because they’re my parents, but I don’t owe them my life.”

“Fuck parental approval!” Louis cheered, loud and obnoxious enough to make Harry laugh.

“Fuck it!” Harry agreed, shaking a dramatic fist in the air.

His arm was still around Harry, his hand hanging lazily in front of his chest. Louis smiled up, all scrunchy eyed with his top teeth showing. Harry just kept looking at him, aware of how close together that arm brought them, but he was smiling too. 

On the side of his neck, he could feel Louis’ fingers playing with the ends of his hair. It sent a flurry of goosebumps on his arms, but he didn’t want him to stop.

He let another beat pass, then thought back to what Louis had said before.

“I feel like I can be my authentic self with you,” Harry told him. As soon as he did it, he wasn’t sure why. It felt like a confession. Like he was trying to cram a whole lot of meaning into one sentence without spelling it out word for word. He was pretty sure it meant exactly what he intended it to mean.

Louis tilted his head, his eyes slightly glossy from the long day. “I feel that way about you, too,” he said.

Just as the feeling came over him, Harry leaned forward with his hand on Louis’ cheek and his eyes closed tight. Their lips met faster than he could process what he was doing, and Louis took in a sharp breath from being caught off guard. But once he felt Louis’ arm pulling him in tighter, Harry melted right into the kiss. 

While his mind was in sensory overload, it was all from feeling. Louis’ strong, yet delicate body close to his. Holding him and showing no signs of wanting to let go. His lips softer than he imagined them being, and yes, he imagined them often. His skin was softer too, except the gentle prickle of a five o’clock shadow that Harry wasn’t expecting because this was something he’d only ever done with girls. 

That thought was the one that hit him. It would’ve been the one to make him pull away, but he felt Louis leaving his lips first. Suddenly, urgently, he retreated in every way. Opening his eyes again, Harry saw nothing but confusion on Louis’ face, igniting his every fear.

“Harry, I didn’t—” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry cut him off, putting more distance between them.

Louis’ eyebrows arched. “Why are you sorry?” He looked like he wanted to reach out again, but he couldn’t.

“Because I shouldn’t have done that. It’s not— You’re not—” He stopped himself, holding his breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”

Harry put his head in his hands. He didn’t want to look at him. He didn’t want to guess what he was thinking based on a look alone.

“I need to go,” Louis said quietly. Harry heard him stand up and jog down the rest of the steps toward his car.

Harry felt horrible. He felt like an idiot. For kissing him, for Louis pulling away, for telling him so much, for wanting to kiss him again. He didn’t move from the step, nor did he try to stop Louis from leaving. He just watched him drive away without looking back. 

The roar of the engine disappeared down the road, then Harry was left alone with the streetlamps and feeling as lost on this step as the moon was amongst the stars. All he wanted to do was scream at himself for being so stupid. 

Willing himself to stand up, Harry marched inside and headed straight for his bed where could try to sleep away his feelings while thinking about them entirely too much. He didn’t want them to mean anything. He wanted to take back all his actions and thoughts because now they weren’t his alone. That kiss brought Louis inside his head, giving him a brief glimpse at what he was thinking all this time. 

It wasn’t supposed to go this way.

He buried his face in his pillow and tried to sleep it all away, knowing sleep would never come.  As much as he wanted to forget it all—the feelings, the warnings, the actions that meant more than they should have—all he could see in his mind was Louis’ face.

He was glad he never looked him in the eye after he pulled away. That look would haunt him more than his regret.

And yet, he still longed to be sitting next to him on that step again.


	16. Chapter 16

For the rest of the weekend, Harry had to make up excuses in Louis’ absence. He got called into work, he caught a cold, his fictional girlfriend needed help with something—anything that would seem more important than seeing his roommate’s family. So anything at all, really.

On Sunday, Harry’s parents wanted to go shopping, so he decided to take Josie to the aquarium where they could have a little sibling bonding time. When Harry was living at home Josie was still a toddler, for the most part, so they couldn’t do most of the fun kid things you want to do with your younger sibling. Harry couldn’t take her to an amusement park, but he could stand in a pit of sand and push her on a swing. Not that his arrogant sixteen-year-old self ever wanted to do that.

Josie picked the aquarium as the one place she wanted to go to because she loved Beluga whales and was desperate to see one up close. Actually, love might not be the right word. She was obsessed with beluga whales in the way Harry was obsessed with Jimi Hendrix and his genius guitar playing. Beluga whales were her Soundgarden, her Nirvana.

(Speaking of that, Harry had to remember to give her the mixtape he made: Punk Rock 101. She was probably old enough now to listen, and hopefully old enough to keep it a secret from their parents.)

Harry, on the other hand, had to fake his way through the day. He wanted to spend time with his sister, but at the same time, he couldn’t help but spend the last few days dwelling. 

He hadn’t spoken to Louis since Friday night. Even if he knew what to say and had the guts to pick up the phone, he was sure Louis wouldn’t answer. Since then, all his mind could focus on was the kiss. Why he did it, if he should have done it, what he would take back if he could. Every moment was analyzed in every way. What he settled on was this: he shouldn’t have apologized. In the heat of the moment, with his brain completely overwhelmed, he acted like it was the worst mistake he ever made. But it wasn’t the kiss that he regretted, it was making Louis think that he did.

But Louis pulled away, didn’t he? Shit, now he was back to this train of thought. Louis kissed him back, he had his arm around him, but he was the first to end it. Harry kept telling himself that Louis made the right choice, that he would’ve pulled away if Louis didn’t first, that it was a good thing that it was stopped before they got carried away. But the truth was, Harry wouldn’t have minded getting carried away.

In some other reality, that kiss had gone on all night. They went inside and confessed their feelings and made love for the first time and everything felt right. In another, they pulled apart with smiles and awkward giggles, then looked up at the stars and talked about the world until Louis had to go home. In that reality, Harry wasn’t wondering if he’d be hearing from Louis the next day. That phone call came. Maybe there was one where they still went inside, but stopped at the living room and sat on the couch, cuddling in the light of late-night television and saying nothing at all. They went for a walk in another, and Harry realized he didn’t have to be so afraid to hold another boy’s hand. 

Maybe there was a reality where he was never afraid of all.

That was the one he wished for the most. Funny enough, it scared the hell out of him. Actually, it wasn’t funny at all. He wanted to like Louis—he _did_ like Louis—but what that meant about himself he wasn’t sure he could fully process. The way things were before Friday night was comfortable. They were easy. Whenever he was with Louis, life felt easy. It was when he was alone with his thoughts that things got far more complicated.

“Woah!” Josie exclaimed as they walked into the underwater tunnel. She gazed above her head, watching the underbelly of the colourful fish swimming around them. In amazement, she ran up to the glass to get a better look, pulling Harry with her by the hand.

“Look at that one,” Harry said, pointing to a fish that looked to be flipped on its side as it swam.

“That’s a halibut,” Josie said. “You ate it for dinner last night.”

“That’s what halibut looks like?” He was incredulous, half because Josie could tell what fish it was just by looking at it and half because he didn’t realize how ugly halibuts actually were.

“There’s a picture right here.” Josie pointed to the plate next to them that outlined all the different fish that were swimming around the dome.

“Why does it look like he’s frowning?”

“He’s sad because he knows you ate his friend for dinner last night.”

Harry turned to glare at her, but she barely noticed before she was running to the other side of the dome. She was just as eager to show her brother all of the fish as she was to see them herself. Josie was the kind of kid to spend all of her free time watching _Discovery Channel_ and reading the nature books she checked out from her school library. When Harry was little, what he loved most in the world was dinosaurs, and he could name more species of them in one breath than he could probably name bands now. _If only_ dinosaurs were still the most important thing in his life.

Moving outside to the marine mammals exhibit, Josie immediately spotted a seal sitting on a rock next to its handler. The handler had a bucket of tiny fish he was handing out to anyone who wanted to try feeding it. Josie ran to join the crowd of kids surrounding them, yelling at Harry to follow her because even he knew that she was the one in charge of today. While Josie squeezed her way to the front, Harry stood back with the parents and listened to the handler talk about the life and daily activities of a Harbour Seal out in the ocean.

“This little girl’s name is Clover,” the handler addressed the group that must’ve only just gathered. “Now, she’s just a pup, but she’s growing fast. As an adult, Clover will probably weight just over a hundred pounds, but a full-grown male Northern Fur Seal can weigh up to six hundred pounds.”

“Why does she have whiskers like a cat?” a little boy up front asked. Instead of listening to the answer, which unsurprisingly came from Josie, Harry couldn’t help but feel like he knew the handler from somewhere. 

As the handler spoke, Harry happened to briefly catch his eye, which made him stumble on his next words. When the demonstration was over, after Josie got her chance to pet and feed the seal, Harry decided to do a little investigating.

“I want to see the Belugas!” Josie exclaimed, grabbing Harry’s hand.

“In a second, okay? Why don’t you go look at the otters?”

“Okay,” she said, running off without a complaint.

“Don’t leave my sight!” Harry called after her, but the chances she heard him were unlikely.

Just as Harry turned to walk up to the handler, hoping to figure out if they happened to go to the same church or high school, he instead walked directly into him.

“Shit, sorry!” Harry quickly took a step back, reaching an arm out to steady himself.

“No, that’s my fault,” the handler assured him with a laugh. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you Harry?”

“Oh, Trysten!” Harry said. Once he was this close it was much easier to recognize him. Then it hit him who Trysten actually was, and he had a sinking feeling that he really shouldn’t have stayed behind to talk to him.

“Was that little girl your, um, daughter?”

“No, no,” Harry said quickly. “She’s my little sister. My family is from out of town and they’re just visiting. She was dying to come here.”

“I can tell. She seems to know her stuff.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that…”

“No, I love knowledgeable guests! Especially when they’re kids who are fascinated by marine life.”

Fascinated was one word for it, he supposed.

“I had no idea you worked here,” Harry said brightly.

“That makes sense, considering we’ve never actually had a conversation.”

He had a point there. There were some details Harry knew about Trysten, but not so much about his life, just how it affected Louis’.

“I’ve heard plenty about you, though,” Trysten said, and that made Harry’s ears prick up. There was only one person linking them who would tell him all about Harry, and hearing that confirmed a few of his suspicions.

Harry tried to look casual, sticking his hands in his pants pockets. “I didn’t know you and Louis kept in touch.”

“A little bit. After we ran into each other that night that he was out with you, I left him my number in case… Well, I don’t know why I did it. He gave me a call about a week later and we decided to go out for dinner. Talk over a few things.”

“Oh,” Harry raised his eyebrows, wondering what reason Louis had to not mention this to him at all. “So have you two been seeing each other again?”

His mind flashed back to the feeling of Louis pulling away from the kiss. A burning sensation surrounded his ears and he had to gulp away the jealousy that was sitting at the back of his throat. He did so gladly, just to get rid of it. Jealousy was something he wanted nothing to do with.

“Not like that,” Trysten waved off the comment. “We just hung out. We’ve both been struggling with moving on, I think, and we just needed to talk a few things out for closure. It was his idea, actually, and I’m glad we did it. He said he was at a point in his life where he needed his past to stop holding him back, and I felt that way too. It’s hard when there’s a lot of history there, you know?”

“Of course,” Harry said, even though he didn’t really know. Even still, a feeling of relief had taken over. Louis hadn’t gotten back together with his ex. He was trying to move on, possibly to pursue other interests. That’s how Harry’s mind filtered it, anyway.

“I’m surprised he didn’t mention any of this to you,” Trysten said. “Aren’t you guys, like, best friends?”

“I’m not sure about that.” They were, well, _something_.

Trysten laughed. “Well, he talked enough to make it seem like you were. I could probably write your biography if you’d like. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you’re the new guy he’s been fucking.”

He said the last part a little quieter because there were still kids around. Louis also must’ve made a point to tell him Harry was straight because Trysten assured him that it was just a joke. Harry forced a laugh, not because he was offended by the joke, but because he wasn’t sure what to do with all of this new information.

This would be so much easier if he could bring himself to just talk to Louis and sort all of this out. If only that was his mindset before he went and kissed him without any warning, putting all his confusion out on display. Now he couldn’t even force himself to make that phone call.

But tomorrow was Monday.

“I should get back to work,” Trysten eventually said. “It was nice to properly meet you. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.”

“You too,” Harry said, sending him off with a wave.

He had to sweep away the mess that was happening in his head as he turned to look for Josie. It was time to switch back into big brother mode again. Thankfully, Josie didn’t run off like she had promised.

“Can we get ice cream?” she asked as soon as she realized Harry had walked up behind her.

“Absolutely,” Harry said. Spoiling Josie was one of his favourite things to do. Especially now that he had a bit of extra cash to spend. “Do you want to see the belugas first?”

“Yes! Then I want to get the biggest ice cream cone they have,” Josie said, leading the way toward the whales.

“You and me both,” Harry agreed, following in her wake.

 

Monday morning brought Harry a rude awakening when he heard the doorbell ring before noon. Wren still hadn’t returned from her girlfriend’s house, but unless she forgot her key, there was no reason for her to ring the doorbell. Harry pulled himself out of bed where he was only half asleep anyway, he was just hoping to stay in bed as long as possible. As he strolled lazily down the hallway, he saw Liam waving at him happily through the screen door.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, sounding more accusatory than he intended as he pushed the door open to let him in.

“Why aren’t you dressed? I told you I’d be here at eleven-thirty.”

Shit. Harry had completely forgotten about that. On a whim, a couple of weeks ago, Louis convinced him to head to a DMV and try his luck on the learner’s test with his only preparation being Louis quizzing him on the drive over. Shockingly, he passed. He got the lowest possible score to pass, but he still left with that little slip that said he could drive a car as long as he was accompanied by a licensed driver, which Liam happened to be. That was why he agreed to give Harry his first official driving lesson today. He also had a car (well, a cab), that was much easier to drive than the van. He also wasn’t Louis, who would make him far too nervous to think straight while trying to learn.

“Let me get dressed,” Harry said, racing back to his room.

To start off the lesson, Liam drove them to an empty parking lot of a church so Harry could get the feel of the pedals. He appeared surprisingly calm from the passenger side as he watched Harry adjust his seat and mirrors.

“Have you ever driven a car before?” Liam asked.

“Once. My dad took me out on some farm roads when I was about fifteen and it did not go well.”

“What happened?”

“I hit a cow.”

Liam’s jaw dropped. “You hit a cow?!”

“Well, technically I backed into it very slowly. The cow was fine.”

“How did you not see the cow?”

“We were on my uncle’s farm and he was teaching me how to reverse and I forgot to put it back into drive.”

“And you haven’t driven since?”

“Nope, but that’s more because of all the yelling from my dad that I was doing everything wrong, not specifically the cow incident.”

“So why do you want to drive now?”

“Necessity, mostly.” Not driving actually hadn’t been so bad for the entirety of his life up until now, but he was starting to realize that not having a licence was becoming a hindrance more than anything.

“Alright, well, do you know how to put it in drive?”

Harry tried to pull the gear shift down but it wouldn’t move.

“Brake.”

“Right.”

Once he actually got the car moving, Liam instructed him to drive out of the parking lot and onto a side road. They were in a residential area so the lack of cars around made it much easier to focus. Harry gripped the wheel tightly with both hands, his jaw clenched as he kept the car going at about twenty-five miles an hour.

“I’ve never actually taught anyone to drive before,” Liam admitted.

“Are you even allowed to let other people drive this thing?”

“Probably not.”

They approached a stop sign and Harry signalled right so they wouldn’t end up in an area he didn’t already know.

“Do you know what to do in a school zone?” Liam asked since that was what they were coming up to.

“Uh, slow down?”

“Good job.”

Harry laughed as he took his foot off the gas and eased onto the brake. Liam’s attempt to take this seriously was actually making Harry take it less seriously. No lesson plan was actually established before this outing. This was just for Harry to get the feel of a car again. As long as he didn’t crash into anything and Liam was there to answer any of his questions, he would be fine.

He decided to switch on the radio to fill in the silence. Liam always had it on the rock station, so the first song that came on was something by Pearl Jam. He just left it where it was, the volume quiet.

“So how was your visit with your family?” Liam eventually asked.

“Oh, it was good,” Harry said easily. “It was especially nice to see my sister again.”

“Did your scheme with Louis work?” he asked in amusement.

Harry shifted in his seat. “I think so,” he said, not wanting to think about it anymore. He had spent the last three days thinking about it and his brain, quite frankly, had had enough. Not to mention that tonight he’d actually have to see the sonofabitch and deal with this head-on. Wasn’t driving supposed to be peaceful?

They turned onto the main road that bordered the neighbourhood. It wasn’t too busy, but the speed limit was higher and Harry was already regretting this choice. He decided to just go with it, trying to remain calm.

“It was weird rehearsing without you on Saturday.”

Harry turned quickly to look at him, his eyebrows creased together. “You guys rehearsed without me?”

“Niall didn’t want to skip the whole weekend. He didn’t mention anything to you?”

Harry shook his head. “No, nothing.”

“We didn’t get much done, anyway. I mean, he seemed pretty bothered the whole time, so none of us really wanted to be there. We agreed that this week we’d all try harder though, especially with the show next weekend coming up.”

“Right,” Harry said, pretending he didn’t completely forget that they had their next gig this weekend. It wasn’t like he had been totally preoccupied with something else for the last, oh, three months or so.

He was still slightly offended that Cherry Pez would rehearse without him there. If Wren couldn’t make it, practice would get cancelled altogether. The lead guitarist seemed like a pretty important instrument to be missing. Being a four-piece, no one would exactly go unnoticed. 

They came to a stoplight and Harry hit the brakes a little harder than he intended to. Liam flinched, but at least he didn’t yell like his dad would’ve. “Try to go a little easier on the breaks,” he said simply.

“Right, sorry,” Harry bit the inside of his lips together, feeling a rush of more nerves. Driving was definitely not peaceful. He felt like he was about to burst.

“Are you alright, man? You seem a little on edge.”

“I’m fine,” Harry lied. If he wasn’t already visibly bothered by his thoughts, being in this car was not helping him at the moment. There was another red light coming up ahead, so Harry didn’t step too hard on the gas.

“If you say so,” Liam shrugged, looking out his side window as they got going again.

Harry was definitely not feeling fine.

“I think I might be gay,” he blurted.

That sure as hell got Liam’s attention.

“Wait, what?”

Harry tried to slow down for the light, but when he pressed his foot on the brake it went all the way to the floor. All the colour drained from his face at once.

“Liam, I—”

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t think this is supposed—”

“Did something happen, or...?”

“I’m serious, I—”

“Are you sure that—”

“I CAN’T STOP THE CAR!”

Instead of doing something rational to help, Liam looked down at Harry’s feet, up at the road in front of them, then started screaming. All Harry could do was the same as they sped directly through the red light. They avoided getting hit, but not getting honked at by angry drivers going the other way. His heart was pounding in his throat. He could still steer the car, but otherwise, he was completely out of control.

They started going down a hill, which meant they were picking up speed. It didn’t help that Harry hit the gas as well just so he could make sure something worked. That just made Liam scream again. The speedometer just kept going up, and this time they were headed for one of the main highways that divided the city.

It suddenly clued into Harry to pull the emergency brake, so he turned the wheel sharply as he did so. They fishtailed onto a neighbouring street, the car sliding sideways as Harry tried to pull the wheel straight again. The car screeched to a halt, wheels smacking into the side of the curb, but they were stopped.

“Holy fuck,” Harry said muttered, closing his eyes and leaning his head back on the seat.

“I really thought we were going to die for a second,” Liam admitted, slightly out of breath. He looked around as if to make sure they were, in fact, still alive.

Harry was a little breathless as well. “Why didn’t you pull the e-brake?”

“You were the one driving!”

“You’re the one teaching me!”

“I don’t know, I panicked!”

“Me too!”

They sat in silent shock for a moment, the engine still running and the radio still playing that same station. It wasn’t Pearl Jam anymore. Harry turned it down, not caring to listen long enough to find out what it actually was.

“So…” Liam turned to look at him without meeting his eye. “You’re gay?”

“I _might_ be gay,” Harry clarified. Even though he knew he liked Louis for a long time, it felt too soon for him to be putting a label on himself. It also _really_ felt too soon to be coming out to a friend in a parked car, but here he was.

“Okay,” Liam replied, his tone wholly unclear.

“Forget I said anything,” Harry quickly retracted. This was just another thing to add to his ever-expanding list of regrets.

“No, it’s okay!” Liam tried to assure him, concern appearing in his voice. “You said you’re not sure, so let’s figure it out. I’ll help you. Talk me through it.”

“Liam, the brakes just went out in your car,” Harry reminded him.

“Yeah, and one of my best friends just told me he might be gay. Which one do you think is more important right now?”

Technically, the brakes were probably more important right at this moment, but Harry appreciated the sentiment.

“So you’re going to sit with me in this car and try to help me figure out if I’m gay? Like it’s that easy? Like we’ll just come to a conclusion together?”

“Well,” Liam began, realizing the flaw in his preposition. “Maybe talking it out will at least help you get a few answers.”

Harry sighed because he knew Liam was right. He hadn’t talked to anyone about this. Ever. Liam probably wasn’t the first person he would go to under normal circumstances—that would more likely be Wren for this specific issue—but he was desperate to get it all out, and at least Liam was an unbiased third party he could air it all out to.

“I kissed Louis on Friday night,” Harry told him, the memory of it coming back again in flashes. It was always flashes, like a picture slideshow. The feeling of Louis’ lips; the feeling of his own guilt. Every time he remembered it, the feeling was never quite the same. “I think I like him. I’m not sure it’s any more complicated than that. I have feelings for a guy so I think I might be gay. It just _feels_ so much more complicated.”

“Well, do you have feelings for all guys?”

“Um,” Harry tilted his head, “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Liam _really_ wasn’t the best person to go to for this.

“No, I mean, do you have feelings for _just_ guys rather than girls?”

Harry thought about it, the answer coming to him easier than he expected. “Honestly? I can’t think of anyone else I’ve had feelings for besides him. Real ones, anyway.”

“Okay,” Liam nodded slowly, absorbing the information. He unlocked his seatbelt so he could turn and face him properly. “Who would you rather sleep with: Rob Lowe or Heather Locklear?”

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just answer it.”

“I don’t know! I never think about that kind of stuff. In the past, I’ve had crushes on girls I guess, but that wasn’t like this.”

“Dude, are you in _love_ with him?”

Harry was about to throw Liam out of this car.

“No! I—” And then he stopped himself, really giving him the chance to think about it. As unhelpful as it seemed Liam was being at the moment, he could be on to something there. “This is the first time I felt like I could be. One day. Maybe.”

He’d only known Louis for four months. He couldn’t be in love.

“I think you’re focusing on the wrong thing, here,” Liam told him, making an effort to sound more sincere. “Maybe it doesn’t matter whether you’re actually gay or not. I mean, that’s not the only label out there. You’re sure you like Louis, right? He’s someone you care about a lot? Then go for it, man! Figure out all the technical shit later. No one is giving you a new I.D. just because you kissed a dude.”

“But what if I pursue it and I’m wrong?”

“Did you hear any of what you just said? All that stuff about being in love with him one day?”

“Okay, well,” Harry said, searching his brain for more excuses. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Liam just shrugged. “You’ll be taking a risk, I guess.”

That wasn’t something Harry was used to. Any real risk he took was purely by association. Even moving here never felt like a risk; it was always a requirement. He needed somewhere he knew he belonged. Life was much easier when you found a norm to follow. _A_ norm, not necessarily _the_ norm. Something Harry was starting to realize in his adult life was that one singular norm didn’t actually exist.

Harry took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “What am I supposed to say to him now, then?”

“What did you say to him after you kissed him?”

That was still a sensitive topic. “I apologized,” Harry said sheepishly.

“Dude!”

“I panicked, okay?!”

“You need to fix this. If this car was drivable right now I would take you there and drop you on his doorstep.”

“Your help is slightly aggressive, you know that?”

“Look, man. I’m really happy for you that you found someone you like, but I also know you. Don’t fuck this up for yourself. You’re, like, really good at fucking things up for yourself.”

“That is both honest and mean.”

And correct, Harry thought but didn’t say. If he was going to make this work—if he actually cared about Louis—he was going to have to make this right. He had to be honest both with Louis and with himself. 

Maybe he did get a few answers.

“Alright, I’ll talk to him,” Harry decided with a sigh. “And thank you for, uh, _this_.” He wasn’t sure what to call this awkward, slightly offensive, but mostly helpful conversation they just had.

“Did I do okay? Did I say the right things?” Liam asked as if he was hoping to get a report card.

“Slightly better than I expected from you,” Harry decided with half of a smile.

“Cool,” Liam nodded. He looked quite satisfied with himself. “We should probably find a payphone to call a tow truck, huh?”

“You’re not going to get fired for this, are you?”

“Nah,” Liam waved a hand as he opened his door to get out. “They’ll never know it wasn’t me driving. Besides, they’ll be the ones paying for the repairs.”

Huh. That sounded like a pretty good gig. Maybe Harry should’ve gotten his license sooner so he could’ve been making tips off of driving around the city in his very own loaner car instead of—

Actually, maybe not…


	17. Chapter 17

Louis didn’t show up for work on Monday. The weekend manager was working instead meaning that Louis must’ve booked this day off in advance, though Harry couldn’t remember ever being told what for. Not that Louis had to tell him, but they had started to be pretty transparent about the goings-on of their lives.

Well, maybe not about everything.

Despite the fact that Harry knew he was ready to talk to him, he was slightly relieved that he didn’t have to do it so suddenly. He would actually have time to prepare what he was going to say, and maybe not have to say it so publicly. 

At the end of the night, he checked his tip cup for a note even though he knew Louis hadn’t been in since last week. Of course there was nothing, but in Louis’ cup was his last guess for their game of hangman. The category was movie characters and Harry had picked Princess Buttercup from the movie they had watched together last weekend. So far, Louis had only guessed the N and the Us and had a head and a body from the A and K he guessed incorrectly. When he realized Zayn was watching him, Harry quickly folded the note back up and picked up the washcloth so he could finish wiping the counters for closing.

Harry didn’t tell Zayn what was going on. If he knew something was up, he didn’t say anything, but Harry was pretty sure he knew. He wasn’t exactly adept in hiding his feelings when something was off, and Zayn had his suspicions all along. He never said anything, but he did give Harry a ride home. It was a quiet drive.

When he got home, Harry noticed a message blinking on the answering machine through the darkness of the apartment. He felt a rush of anxiety since no one ever left a message, and there was one person in particular who might give him a call. As he shed his jacket and pressed the button to play the message, listening while searching the fridge for something to snack on. He finally settled on the jar of sliced pickles and a handful of shredded cheese.

“ _ Hi, Harry! I miss you! Thank you for taking me to the aquarium and having fun with me this weekend. When can we come back?  _ Josie, what are you doing? _ I love you—bye! _ ” *Click*

Harry laughed as he looked at the machine, imagining his mother snatching the phone from his sister’s hand. Clearly Josie didn’t have permission to make that call, but even though he only saw his sister yesterday, Harry still found himself missing her.

Fishing a fork into the pickle jar, he listened for the next message since apparently two people had found him important today. 

“ _ Good afternoon. My name is Russell Wise and I’m looking for the representative of the band Cherry Pez. Apologies that I haven’t been given a name to contact, but I’m calling from Track Nine Records in hopes to discuss a recording deal to be reviewed for publishing. If you can call…” _

Harry dropped the fork onto the bag of cheese, letting shredded pieces scatter across the floor tiles at it fell over. He leaped towards the answering machine where they always left a notepad and scribbled down the number being recited to him. Just to make sure he heard it correctly, he listened one more time while double-checking each digit. Wren wouldn’t be home until morning, so he stuck the note on her bedroom door. 

His heart was practically racing at the thought of what this could all mean. An actual recording contract, to sit in a booth and record a real record. Not sneaking into a low-budget recording studio to lay down a whole demo in one night. This was a big deal. It was exciting. It was everything they ever wanted.

But they had to keep their cool.

This was only a message about a phone call about a discussion about a recording contract to make a record that might get distributed. If anything went wrong during the course of this process, it would be all over. So he tried not to get his hopes up, but he also couldn’t help but toss and turn all night as he thought about what the future could hold. He was excited and nervous and stressed and anxious, but mostly excited.

But he wasn’t getting his hopes up.

 

Wren wasn’t awake yet when Harry walked into the kitchen the next morning, but she had left a note on the fridge that said “FUCK YEAH” in giant letters, followed by, “ _ I’ll call back tomorrow. Don’t tell the others without me!”  _ in brackets below. Harry remembered to be excited again, but he also remembered Louis. 

They needed to talk and Harry couldn’t put it off any longer. Without even having his morning coffee, Harry took a shower and got dressed before heading straight for Louis’ house. He had a couple of hours to spare before rehearsal, which was when he could really be excited with the band, but he needed to deal with only one overwhelming situation at a time. So he walked two blocks and waited for the bus.

He wondered if Liam would ever take him for another driving lesson after the disaster they endured yesterday. It wasn’t the worst of events. No one got hurt and Liam already got the screw that caused the brakes to fail replaced. Technically, it wasn’t even Harry’s fault, but now he had an even worse track record when it came to driving. Couldn’t he ever stop a car normally?

For a little while longer, Harry would be bus-ridden, but he decided he didn’t mind. It saved him money that a car would otherwise be eating up. He wasn’t exactly living the high life at the moment, but he was comfortable. He could pay his bills, he could buy enough food to eat, and he could go out once in a while without stressing about next month’s rent. Really, he couldn’t complain, but chances were, he still would.

The bus ride felt twice as long as he was used to. Harry began to wonder if he should’ve called ahead. Louis hadn’t been at work yesterday, so did that mean he was sick again? But he wouldn’t have known he was sick in advance to book it off. Maybe Harry shouldn’t have been so weird about talking to Zayn yesterday. At least he would’ve been able to get some information out of him.

What he was most nervous about was the call box. If Louis wouldn’t let him in, there wasn’t much more he could do from there. The message would be loud and clear and the rest of his time working at Club Rose would be awkward as hell. 

He dialed the number and listened through the rings.

In his mind, Harry was already preparing for the worst. He had already gone over how terribly this could go a hundred times, which gave him a pretty good emotional airbag if this confrontation was to go south. If that was the case, maybe one day they could move on and be friends again. It would take some time if Louis really was that upset, but he was sure they could do it. Their friendship seemed to be strong enough, and if Harry was the only one who wanted more, he could work through that. He didn’t need a happily ever after at twenty-one. As long as Louis was happy then he could—

“Hello?” Harry said since the ringing stopped.

“Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, good. I need your help with something. Come up and I’ll explain.”

The door buzzed and Harry stared at it for a second before opening it.  _ Oh good _ ?  _ I need your help _ ? What was this? What about the dramatic monologue Harry had planned on the bus ride over? How he was going to beg Louis to listen so he could explain himself. Lay it all out on the table and let Louis decide. Did he feel the same way? Was this kiss just a mistake? Were they meant to be together? Would they never speak again?

But when he made it up the elevator and knocked on Louis’ door, he was greeted by a smile rather than the confused hesitance he was expecting. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Louis said, leaving the door open as he walked away, hoping Harry would follow.

Instead, Harry was the one entering with confused hesitation. He closed the door slowly, unzipping his jacket but not taking it off. He wasn’t sure how long he was actually welcome here.

“Harry, I want you to meet Mickey,” Louis said, gesturing to the boy sitting on a stool in the kitchen. 

Mickey was sipping on a cup of coffee and flipping through the newspaper on the counter in front of him. From what Harry could tell by his extended limbs, he was tall and lean, and he had a young face underneath the light blonde hair that fell over his eyes. He smiled at Harry kindly as he glanced up, offering a small wave.

“Mickey, you remember hearing about my friend Harry, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to meet you. You’re the guitarist in that band, right? Cherry Pez?”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry was slightly taken aback. “You’ve heard of— Oh, Louis must’ve told you about the band.”

“No, I’ve been to a few of your shows! I thought it was sick when Louis told me you guys were friends.”

“You two have, like, the exact same taste in music,” Louis cut in. “I’m sure you’ll get along great.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, still not quite sure what was going on. He turned to Louis to speak quieter. “You said you needed my help with something?”

“Yes!” Louis said, refocusing. “Deja is gone.”

“What do you mean she’s gone?”

“While we were moving Mickey in yesterday we had the door propped open to bring in the furniture we picked out for his room, and she decided to make a break for it. Haven’t seen her since last night.”

“Where do you think she would be?” Harry wondered, suddenly very worried. He was quite fond of that cat and was probably just as concerned as Louis was about something happening to her.

“Hopefully somewhere in this building. I asked the manager and she said there’s nothing on the security footage of a cat going out the front door, but I suppose there are other ways she could get out of here…”

“I’ll help you look,” Harry offered without thinking twice. He had a couple of hours before he had to be at rehearsal, but he could be a little late if need be. He knew how much Deja meant to Louis, so this was important to him, too.

“I hate to ditch you guys, but I do have to leave for work,” Mickey said, dropping his mug in the sink and heading towards the front door.

“No worries,” Louis called after him. “I’ll see you right before I leave tonight.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry grinned, then watched him pick up his keys and head out the door.

“Likewise!”

They both waited until the door closed, then a few more moments until Mickey was further down the hall. “So that’s him?” Harry said. “How’s he doing?”

Louis shrugged, seeming unsure how to answer. “I told him he could move in if he got himself a job, so he’s working as a grocery bag boy. His appointments seem to be going okay.”

“That’s good,” Harry said brightly.

“I mean, he’s still living his life and he seems to be in good spirits. I hope it stays that way.”

“We should invite him to the next show,” Harry offered. “He seems like a good kid.”

It felt odd calling someone ‘kid’ when he was only three years younger than Harry. But he was seeing him through Louis’ eyes, and to Louis, he was like a little brother. Harry could see in the way they interacted how much he cared about Mickey. He started to wonder if maybe this was the reason Louis hadn’t called all weekend; he was too busy getting ready for Mickey’s arrival. It was the first time it dawned on Harry that even though Louis was the only thing on his mind the last few days, it didn’t mean Louis had become just as consumed by the events of Friday night.

“We should check the stairwell first,” Louis suggested, breaking their silence as they stood in the kitchen. “Mickey and I roamed the halls last night, but it was pretty late so we couldn’t scan the whole building.”

Harry left his jacket on the back of a chair, now knowing for sure that he was going to be here a while. He opened the door and gestured a hand forward. “Lead the way.”

Louis brought along a bag with treats, shaking them as they made their way between floors. Harry tried his best to whistle since Louis could never figure out how to make the sound. They considered splitting up to look, but decided their combined efforts would be more useful if they spotted her and she tried to sprint away.

Ever since moving in with Wren, Harry had been taking advantage of his stair-less home. Louis lived in a building with twenty floors, and they had to examine all of them. At least it was down, otherwise, Harry would be collapsing about halfway up. Maybe he should’ve started using the gym next to the lobby every time he came to visit. If he was still going to be visiting regularly, that is.

“Deja!” Louis called, followed by Harry’s whistle. That was the pattern they’d been following for the last fifteen minutes or so. They were yet to gain any results thus far.

“Does she even know her name? I’ve never seen her answer to it,” Harry said.

“Of course she knows her name,” Louis said. “She just plays by her own rules. That’s why I like her.”

“Is that why she decided to live off on her own somewhere in this building?”

“She still needs my guidance,” Louis claimed.

Harry couldn’t pretend like he wasn’t bothered by this anymore. The last time he saw Louis they had kissed, and now he was acting like nothing happened at all. Maybe Harry was the one being dramatic this whole time. He was treating his life like it was a soap opera, where everything had a deeper meaning and a kiss couldn’t just be a kiss. It was the climax of a character arc, the big moment leaving the audience in a chorus of gasps and their mouths hanging agape, holding their breaths to find out what happened next.

But really, it was just something people did, getting caught up in the heat of the moment, simply because they wanted to.

It was still kind of weird to not talk about it.

“Louis?”

“Hm?” he said, barely glancing his way.

God, he felt like such a teenager about this, but he had never experienced anything like this as a teenager. He was just making up for lost time. “Is it weird that we kissed?”

Louis stopped briefly, turning around with a smile that looked like it was going to turn into a laugh. “Right out of the gate, huh?”

Harry stumbled on his thoughts before he could get any words out. “I mean, I haven’t heard from you in a few days, so I thought maybe—”

“It’s not weird,” Louis stated. “I don’t think so, anyway.”

“Oh.”

“I assume you’ve been freaking out ever since, am I right?”

“Well, I—”

He absolutely was. Obviously.

“I wanted to give you some space. That’s why I didn’t call. I’m not confused by my feelings, but it’s okay that you are. I didn’t want to pressure you.”

“Oh.”

Harry’s vocabulary wasn’t at its most creative at the moment. He had no idea what to say. Nothing he had prepared was for this response. Louis’ heart seemed to be in the right place to be so concerned with Harry’s feelings, but by not hearing from him, Harry was twice as stressed as he could’ve been with the reassurance that Louis wasn’t mad at him. To know that, if he wanted, their friendship could go back to the way it was. 

Then again, no one was stopping Harry from being the one to pick up the phone.

Taking a step back, Harry sat on the second step up from the landing. They were on the tenth floor now, still yet to hear a meow. Louis sat another step above him, not too close.

“Is this something you want to talk about?” Louis asked.

Harry looked up at him. “How do you feel about me?” he said, no hesitation there. His question was as direct as he wanted the answer to be.

Louis took a deep breath.“Well, you’re a very important person in my life,” he began, rubbing his hands together. “And I do like you. But if you know yourself to be straight, all I want is for us to continue as friends. If you’re comfortable with that. If you like me too then, well, I guess that would be… cool.” He had a little smile when he said it, and it made Harry’s heart flutter. God, this almost felt worse than a soap opera. In a good way.

“Okay—”

“But no pressure!” Louis assured. “I get that you’re still figuring things out and that takes more than just a couple of days. Besides, you know, we don’t have to overthink that kiss. It doesn’t have to mean we’re head over heels for each other. I mean, it  _ can  _ mean  _ something _ , but—”

Harry smiled. “Can I have a turn?” he asked, trying to sound sweet.

“Sorry,” Louis said sheepishly.

“I…” Harry started, bending his fingers back and forth as he folded them together. He was still attempting to piece together a coherent response. Eventually, he sighed. “I don’t know how I feel,” he said. It was the honest truth. A kiss could just be a kiss, but this didn’t feel like one of those times.

“That’s okay,” Louis said.

“Why did you run away so fast after?” Harry wondered because that was something that had been bothering him as well. He had spent so long feeling guilty that he had hurt Louis when now it seemed like he hadn’t been bothered at all.

“Harry, you weren’t the only one stunned in the moment. I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought about kissing you, but after it happened, you had this panicked look on your face while apologizing. I didn’t know what else to do. I guess I kind of freaked out, too.”

“Is it bad that hearing that kind of makes me feel better?” Harry said, biting his lips together. “I was starting to think I was the crazy one here.”

Louis laughed, shaking his head. “Feelings fuck with your head, man.”

“You’re telling me.”

They both laughed again, then welcomed the moment of silence that followed. Harry glanced at Louis, watching him pretend to read the label on the cat treats. He found himself taking in every feature. The thin smile lines around his eyes that he was almost too young to have. The way his hair curled perfectly around his ear, and the way he moved his lips around too much when he was uncomfortable. Biting the insides, pursing them, twisting them to one side. 

Or maybe ‘nervous’ was the right word. Behind those eyes, Harry could see it. It’s not easy telling someone how you feel, especially when you’re so sure you’ll get rejected. But Louis was laying all of his feelings out on the table, letting his vulnerability show, and still putting up a front so he wouldn’t scare Harry away. So Harry would know that the ball was in his court and no decision he made was the wrong one. He could break Louis’ heart and Louis would never let it show.

Harry wondered if that was what a stage of love could be. Caring about someone else’s happiness as much as you cared about your own. The last thing he ever wanted to do was break Louis’ heart.

“I think I need time,” Harry finally said. “I want to figure things out for myself a bit more before I bring you into this mess.”

“Mess?” Louis lifted an eyebrow.

“It feels like a mess,” Harry sighed. Having any feelings at all created a mess in his brain. That was why Wren and Niall wrote all of the lyrics.

“Take your time,” Louis smiled softly. “Just don’t stop coming to visit.”

“Of course.” As long as he was welcome, Harry wouldn’t even think of it. If there was one person in this world that Harry wouldn’t mind spending every day with, it was Louis. He just wanted to know how much longer those kind of thoughts were going to scare the shit out of him.

And that was when, from the corner of somewhere in this stairwell, sounding almost like a faint echo, came a meow. Both of their heads shot up and Louis rose to his feet.

“Is that—?”

“Shh!” Louis hushed him. 

Peeking slowly around the corner up the steps, Louis saw just the top of an orange ear. He stretched his neck slowly until he could see one eye. Deja’s eyes narrowed, her head sinking between her shoulders as she stared Louis down. He kept one hand up to make sure Harry didn’t say anything, then lifted a foot to move up. Deja took that as an opportunity to bolt back up the stairs with a leap, sending both Harry and Louis after her without a second thought.

The only thing worse than walking up ten flights of stairs was running up ten flights of stairs.

They could hear her tiny claws scratching on the concrete as she ran, but they knew that as soon as she reached the top she would have nowhere to go. Unless, of course, she learned to open doors. Or someone happened to be leaving to go down the steps just as Deja made it to the top. 

Of course, that had to be their luck as they heard the squeaking door three flights up.

“Fuck!” Louis exclaimed, starting to run even faster. Harry was wondering if he should make a little detour and take the elevator the rest of the way up.

“What’s on the top floor?” Harry asked, trying to cover up how out of breath he was getting. A maintenance man silently passed them as they climbed, making it pretty obvious he was the culprit in question.

“It should just be more apartments,” Louis said, but he seemed unsure.

He waited until Harry was at his side, then Louis pushed the heavy door open. Instead of another hallway, they had entered a tiny room with only one other door on the opposite side. They exchanged confused looks, but still continued on their way. When they pushed on the next handle, they were met with a gust of wind and the bright afternoon sunlight.

“The stairs go all the way to the roof?” Harry said, looking around at their surroundings. “Did you know this was here?”

“My dad never mentioned it when he let me move in. That doesn’t surprise me, honestly. He didn’t spend much time here.”

It wasn’t just any old building roof, either. There was a little patio in the centre, surrounded by potted trees and flowers, and cushioned outdoor furniture on a wood-paneled floor. It even had a little barbeque if anyone wanted to use the space to entertain. Most of the space was sheltered in, but there was a fence next to one ledge that bordered a view of the Seattle skyline.

Louis stepped into the small sitting area to take a better look. While the spot was well maintained, it didn’t appear to be very popular. The furniture was worn from age, not from use, and the colours were fading in the sunlight. Since most of this building was full of rich businesswomen and men whose schedules were packed full, there was probably little room for a quiet night on a rooftop.

“There she is!” Harry pointed to what he could only describe as a large metal box because whatever it contained or was intended for was a complete mystery to him.

Deja was standing right at the edge, staring down at them and wagging her tail slowly. This time, she didn’t look as prepared to run away.

“Get down here you little shit!” Louis said, stomping towards her.

“You’re going to scare her off!”

“She’s not scared of anything. Come on, give me a boost.”

Louis pulled his sleeves up while Harry crouched down and folded his hands together to make a step. “Are you sure this is safe?” he asked while Louis got his footing. 

“Nope,” he said, and made the jump anyway.

Thankfully, Deja stayed put while Louis sat himself next to her, giving him a chance to scoop her up in his arms. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he watched, shielding his eyes from the sun. Getting down proved to be more of a challenge, but Louis eventually decided to just take the leap and let his feet suffer the sting as he hit the ground. 

Harry took Deja from his arms to he could dust himself off and look his cat in the eye to gave her a good scolding. “The things I do for you, you dumb fucking cat. Why did you run away? You never even look at the door!”

Harry lifted one of Deja’s paws and waved it in the air. “I’m sorry,” he said in a baby voice that she would probably be insulted by.

With a half-smile, Louis scratched the top of her head. “Let’s get her back inside before she causes any more trouble,” he said.

They turned back towards the entrance for the roof, Louis opening the doors so Harry could make sure Deja didn’t jump out of his arms. However, when they entered the landing for the top floor, the whole stairwell was much darker than before, only lit by the few windows that lined every other story.

“Why would they turn out the lights?” Harry wondered out loud as they jogged down the stairs.

“I don’t think they would,” Louis said, picking up the pace. Clearly, he  _ was  _ using the gym next to the lobby.

When they reached Louis’ floor and opened the door, the darkness of the hallway answered their question. The only light was the window on the opposite end of the building.

“You don’t think we made the power go out, do you?” 

Louis fished in his pocket for his keys while they stood in front of his door. “No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she had something to do with it,” he said, pointing his thumb at Deja.

As soon as Louis got the door open, Harry let Deja jump to the floor. She headed straight for her dish of dry food, chomping on what was leftover from yesterday. Whatever other basic needs she had to take care of while she was on her own out there, neither of them wanted to know about. Sorry, maintenance man.

“Hey, uh, since I can’t do much here with no power, do you want to grab some lunch, maybe? I can drop you off at rehearsal after.” Louis offered with hesitance in his voice. 

Harry hoped that hesitancy of Louis’ would go away before he finally figured things out for himself. There was no reason for it. The last thing he wanted was for there ever to be any awkwardness between them, no matter where this went. Louis would never stop being important to him.

“Sure,” Harry grinned a reassuring grin. No matter what, he’d always be eager for them to spend time together. “Let me grab my jacket.” 


	18. Chapter 18

As soon as he was out of Louis’ car, Harry bolted into the house and down the basement stairs, hearing the excitement of his bandmates as he got closer. He skipped gleefully down each step, stopping at the bottom and looking curiously at his excited friends that were gathered around their rehearsal space.

“Am I in the presence of future recording artists Wren, Niall, and Liam AKA Cherry Pez?” he said, pointing a finger at all of them.

“Yes,” Wren said as she stood up, pulling Harry by his arm to join them, “because you are  _ part  _ of future recording artists Wren, Niall, Liam,  _ and  _ Harry AKA Cherry  _ fucking  _ Pez!” she cheered, earning hoots and hollers from the room. Niall and Liam jumped up to join in a group hug full of hair ruffling and back-patting and gleefully squeezing each other tight.

“What did they say when you called?” Harry asked as they let go. Niall handed him a celebratory beer even though he probably shouldn’t have been drinking before work, but you only get news of your first recording contract once.

“So nothing is  _ totally  _ official yet…” Wren began.

“We set up a meeting for Monday at noon to go over the proposed contract,” Niall explained.

“They want to offer us a single album deal and if they think it has potential, they want to release it by this summer!” Wren could hardly contain her excitement, the last of her words practically coming out like a squeal. 

“Holy shit!” Harry exclaimed. He almost wished Louis didn’t have to go home to see Mickey so he could be celebrating with them as well. And Zayn, who was probably in class. They were both part of this, too.

But then again, it was just the four of them at the start—when Cherry Pez became the band they really needed to be—so maybe having their own moment of appreciation first did feel right. They could celebrate with more of their friends later. Maybe go out for a few drinks, invite Niall and Wren’s girlfriends, as well. Today could be just for them.

“Liam, you’ve barely said anything,” Niall looked at him, eyes as wide as his smile. Nothing could break the thrill of their collective mood. Almost nothing.

“I just…” Liam looked around, stuttering his laugh as he tried to decide what to say, looking into each of his friends’ eyes. “I’m speechless,” he decided on. “It’s fucking crazy.”

“It  _ is  _ fucking crazy,” Niall agreed, raising his drink in cheers. 

But Harry glanced at Liam once more, watching the smile fade from his lips as they clinked their bottles of beer and Wren her can of Coke. He wondered what exactly Liam’s definition of “crazy” was. But he didn’t say anything because now was a time to be excited and he didn’t want to risk finding out what the one exception could be to breaking their good mood.

The celebrating couldn’t last all night, though, because they did actually have to rehearse today. This was the part Harry was most looking forward to and dreading at the same time. While everyone set up their equipment, he sat on his amp and tuned his guitar to standard tuning. Then he took out the paper he had folded in his pocket for the last two weeks and let his eyes scan the words over and over.

“Do we want to start with “Charmer” or “Run Away”?” Wren asked as she tried to untangle the cord for her mic.

“Actually,” Harry stood up, flattening the paper across his chest before he handed it to Wren. “I was thinking we could try this out. I wrote it for us. I mean, sort of. I got the words and most of the guitar part, but it probably needs some re-working so—”

“ _ Homesick _ ,” Wren read the title out loud. “This about your family?”

“No,” Harry laughed awkwardly, not liking the attention of his bandmates at the moment. They seemed a little confused if nothing else. Until now, all Harry had contributed was approval and a few rhyming words when no one could think of anything. Even Liam, who was a damn drummer, had written half a song for Cherry Pez. “It’s not about back home at all,” he admitted.

“So who’s it about?” Liam asked with a notable “who” not a “what”.

“I don’t know, it’s just a song. It’s about my fucking feelings or whatever, okay?” He didn’t say it aggressively. His voice was so high that the humour was implied. It was stressful enough having them all hear the words he’d written, never mind knowing what he was thinking when he wrote them.

Harry began plucking his distorted strings slowly. They didn’t have a lot of slow-tempo songs, but it was never too early to start broadening their range. “Just pick up when you have something that feels right,” Harry said to Niall and Liam, then turned to Wren. “I’ll cue you when to start the first verse.”

There’s a stark difference between sharing your creative work with strangers whom you’ve never met and may never even meet, and the people who know you better than anyone else. The ones who you’ve shared your achievements with and the ones who’ve seen you cry on your darkest days. Who know all your secrets, who’ve heard all your stories, who have become part of them. But they’re not inside your mind. They aren’t feeling your emotions as you do. But with a poem, a painting, or a song, those emotions are being let out into the world. They’re being shared in a way that conversation doesn’t allow.

So when the words you wrote are being sung at you in a room full of people who are now feeling the emotions you’ve felt, raw and unfiltered, knowing the life you’ve lived and the experience you’ve had, it’s like you’ve let them in on just one more secret. One that’s been too personal to share, because feelings and emotions are for ourselves first. Through art, we let them free, and sometimes that can be fucking terrifying.

“So…” Harry glanced around the room as the last notes rang out. “What did you guys think.”

The others exchanged in casual head nods with pouted bottom lips.

“It was good,” Liam said simply. 

“I think we should sharpen the chorus a bit,” Niall told the group. “Make it more pronounced than the verses rather than having it all flow together.”

Harry waved a hand in confusion. That wasn’t what he felt was important here. “What about the lyrics, though? Are they… good? Too sappy? Too plain?”

“I have one comment,” Wren said, holding the lyric sheet in front of her as she looked it over. Harry was all ears. “I think we should change the narration. Take away all the female pronouns. Just talk right to the person. Tell them how you feel, not some audience.”

Using female pronouns was something Harry felt was an obligation more than anything. Wren always wrote with female pronouns, and so did Niall when he was writing for her. Changing it up just didn’t make sense until now.

“You think that’ll make it better?”

Wren nodded. “You have some strong words here. Changing the narration will add more emotion. Besides, we have enough ‘she’s and ‘her’s. People are gonna start to think I’m a lesbian or something.”

Niall snorted, and Liam gave her a sarcastic and slightly off-time ‘ba-dum-tss’.

“Thank you, thank you,” Wren mocked, taking a dramatic bow.

Niall had little time for jokes since they already had used up so much at the beginning of rehearsal for their preemptive celebrations. He was ready to move right along. “How about we play “Charmer” and then come back to this one.”

“Homesick,” Harry reminded him.

“Right, we’ll come back to “Homesick” later. We’re booked for both Friday and Saturday night this weekend so we really have to work on songs we’re ready to perform.”

“Why can’t we perform Harry’s new song this weekend, too?” Wren asked, her eyebrows pulled together as she crossed her arms.

Niall looked surprised that she even suggested that. “We have four days before the show and it’s a brand new song. We’d never have it ready on time.”

“Says who? We already have the foundation of the song and could easily put together something decent to perform by then.”

Harry tried to interject. “It’s not a big deal if—” 

“We already have a setlist,” Niall stressed, clearly not wanting to continue this conversation.

Wren was just as annoyed. “The setlist isn’t written in stone. We can add another song or take out a cover. If I have to sing another punk version of an Aerosmith song...” She gritted her teeth.

“We need the time to rehearse what we have. Learning something new will only complicate things.”

“We rehearse the same setlist every day! We’re not going to get anywhere without taking risks. I don’t see why we can’t—”

“WE AREN’T CHANGING THE SETLIST!” Niall yelled.

The room went silent. That was one thing that could definitely kill the mood.

Harry’s eyes grew wide, looking to Liam first who was just as surprised. They both knew better than to get involved in an argument like this. You can only joke your way out of a tense situation so many times.

Wren was the most taken aback, her mouth hanging open as she took a step backward. She closed it with a gulp. “Fine,” she said, delicately folding Harry’s lyrics back up and placing them on top of his amp. “Because you’re the only one who makes decisions around here, right?” she said, turning away to grab her jacket off the couch.

“Wren, I didn’t mean—”

“I’m going to get some air. No one follow me.” She looked at Liam specifically because it was in his blood to follow upset friends to make sure they were okay. But since she made it clear, he stayed put.

“That was a huge dick move, dude,” Liam said once Wren was out of earshot.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Niall said quietly.

Liam raised an eyebrow, feeling bold. “You didn’t mean to try to dictate band decisions like you always do?”

“Is it a fucking crime to want to put on a good show? We can still finish the song, but for now, we need to play what we know.”

“It’s too early to start taking all the fun out of being in the band,” Harry said, trying for a joke but ultimately ending with a statement that was all too real. He wished he would’ve let the awkward silence follow Niall’s comment rather than his own.

Niall lifted his bass by the strap and rested it on the stand behind him. “I’m getting another drink. I’ll be right back,” he said.

If Harry wasn’t too busy trying to keep his life together, he would take this as a great opportunity to go outside and have a smoke.

 

It had been forty-two days since Harry’s last cigarette. The way his life was going at the moment, he was starting to wonder if he picked the wrong time to quit. He wasn’t an angry person without the cigarettes, but he was an anxious one. 

It had been over a week since their meeting with Track 9 Records. They eventually signed the deal after Niall asked a million questions about what could go wrong and Wren asked a million questions about everything that could go right. Interviews, album cover shoots, tours; just the start of what they’d been dreaming of. And now, on Friday afternoon, they were going to start recording their first album. These people did not waste time.

Since his little outburst last week, Niall had cooled the drill sergeant act a bit. He still took on the leadership role and made sure they were on task during practice, but he started asking the group rather than just making the decisions, which was something, at least. At their shows last weekend they did sound quite well-rehearsed, but the tension was still there. Just a few remnants of it, but it was there.

That night of their last fight, Niall had apologized to Wren in private, but not to Harry or Liam. It sort of bothered Harry because they were being bossed around too, but he didn’t want to create any more problems. This was exciting times. An album deal, working with a label, songs on the radio, the prospect of a tour. Weeks or months on the road with the same people who he could only pray would all get along.

Exciting times…

Since the news of the deal, Harry didn’t want to go into work. He just wanted to play music and he wanted to be around his band so he wouldn’t feel so bad about the fact that it was all he could think or talk about. There was only so long Louis and Zayn could go on pretending that they could tolerate his endless blabbering while they all closed together. The only reason Zayn did tolerate it was because Liam promised that they would recommend his work to the label when the discussion of an album cover began. Plus he was pretty fucking proud of his friends.

When it came to Louis, Harry just liked that they had something to talk about, otherwise he was worried his constant nerves would leave him with a blank mind. There was no reason to be nervous, really, and Louis had shown no sign of being anything but patient with him. Their friendship was the same as it had always been, but it felt like they had been in limbo ever since  _ that night. _

The night they kissed, that is. Harry supposed he could stop being so dramatic about it.

Since the last week of his life had been so focused on Cherry Pez, Harry didn’t have a lot of brain power left to think about anything else. It wasn’t great timing when he felt like he was  _ supposed  _ to be thinking so he could come to a decision or conclusion or realization or whatever you wanted to call it. As cheesy as it sounded, what Harry was really looking for was a sign. Something that would tell him that he wasn’t making things up, that taking a chance with Louis was right, that he wasn’t just feeling this way because he was curious or confused. But maybe that was just how it worked. He had been confused his whole life, curious ever since he met someone who made him feel like a better, happier version of himself, and now everything was starting to come into focus.

Harry couldn’t keep pretending his parents had nothing to do with his internal turmoil. They wouldn’t approve. Simple as that. Maybe one day they would come around, but it would only make going home for Christmas that much harder. If he was even invited anymore. It was easier to just not think about them. There was already so little of his life that his parents approved of. This would just be the tipping point. But he wasn’t going to be someone he wasn’t just to please people who didn’t support him. He loved his family, but he didn’t owe them his life.

Harry was laying backwards on his bed, his head hanging off the foot while earphones covered his ears. The tapes Liam had bought him were proving to actually help his journey to never touch a cigarette again. He didn’t think that the hypnotherapy was doing anything psychologically per se—that would be the nicotine gum that deserved the credit—but there was something relaxing about listening to a voice speak soothing affirmations to him, even if reciting them to himself out loud over and over again sounded like bullshit.

In his hand he was holding that Scooby-Doo Pez dispenser Louis got for him, tossing it in the air with a spin and catching it again. Normally, he kept it in his guitar case as the good luck charm it was meant to be. But rather than a symbol of hopeful success, all it reminded him of was Louis. In fact, too many of his belongings scattered around this room reminded him of Louis. Like the cactus he got him as a house warming present, and all the tapes and records that he took off Louis’ hands. Even the record player was a gift, and he used it nearly every day. He didn’t realize how much Louis had taken over his mind and his life. That thought alone told him a lot more about himself that he was finally starting to realize.

There was a knock on Harry’s door, and the pause that followed was how he knew it wasn’t Liam or Niall. Both of them had a habit of barging in even  _ with  _ the warning. To them, knocking was merely a courtesy, not a request for entrance.

Harry pressed pause on his Walkmen and called for Wren to come in. 

“What’s with the cave setting?” Wren asked, flicking on the light switch. Harry shielded his eyes until they could get used to the brightness.

“Anti-smoking therapy,” Harry said as he sat up, making room for Wren to join him on the opposite side of the bed.

Wren tilted her head. “Looks like you’re just listening to music.” 

He chose not to correct her. “Same thing.”

Instead of sitting down, Wren turned towards his closet and pulled open the doors. She was lucky he had recently decided to put away his laundry after washing it all last week. He felt like he should look good for arguably the most important meeting of their careers thus far. Normally his clothes would be in a mountain hiding a basket underneath, and the bar above it all would hold nothing but empty hangers. That was before Harry began his journey to becoming an actual functioning human.

“Do you still have that acid wash denim jacket? The one with the puffy arms and the rip in the breast pocket?” Wren wondered, flipping through the hangers.

“It should be in there.” God knows Harry never thought to get rid of any of his clothes if they still fit and had minimal stains. “Why? Got a hot date tonight?”

“Violet wants me to go out for dinner with her and her parents tonight,” she said, still searching with determination.

“Oh, wow,” Harry raised his eyebrows. “Haven’t you guys only been together for like a month?”

“We’re lesbians. We went shopping for curtains for our future place together on the first date,” she deadpanned.

“I know you’re joking but the idea of that terrifies me.”

“Okay mister-commitment-issues,” Wren laughed. “And we’ve been dating two months, not one.”

“I don’t have commitment issues,” Harry claimed. It was dating issues that he had. He hadn’t gotten far enough to be afraid of commitment just yet.

“Here it is!” Wren yanked it off the hanger and held it up before pulling it over her arms. It was slightly baggy on her, but so were most of her own clothes. “Mind if I borrow it for the night?”

“To meet your girlfriend’s parents?”

“What? I want them to meet the real me. The real me dresses like this.”

“In your male roommate’s clothes.”

“Exactly. Thanks, dude,” she said, then began to leave with the jacket slung over her arm.

“Wait,” Harry said before she reached the door. His tone was urgent, so she turned around in concern. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Yeah, of course.” She came over to his bed and folded one leg under herself as she sat down. “Everything okay?”

“The thing is, I—” Harry started, but he didn’t know how to finish. Every time he said this out loud it got harder. Wasn’t it supposed to get easier? This time, he decided on a different approach. “I think I want to take Louis out on a date.”

Wren’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! I mean—” She stopped briefly to think. “Go for it, yeah. You guys seem to get along really well. He’s a great guy, so I could see things working out for you two.”

“You think?”

“Sure! I mean, sometimes it gets tricky when you start dating someone you’re already friends with, but if you really like the person and they like you, what’s stopping you?”

“Right,” Harry nodded, but the answer was too simple. He wasn’t quite convinced.

“Have you… dated guys before?”

“No.”

Wren bit her lips together and nodded. “Ah. Thought so.”

“I know I like him. I think that I’m bi, probably. Maybe. I don’t know.” 

Harry sighed and peeked out the crack in his blinds. It was a sunny day out and he was spending it in here trying to declutter his mind. Maybe going for a walk would do a better job of that than these anti-smoking tapes.

“You don’t  _ have  _ to be anything,” Wren told him. He let the blinds go and rolled his head back to listen. “You also don’t have to figure out how you identify as right now. It’s not like picking a college major. The answer is already there, and one day you’re gonna find yourself at a place in your life where everything feels right. You could be twenty-three or sixty-five when it happens, and that’s perfectly fine. Just don’t let it stop you from what’s happening right now.” 

She tried to pat his knee to comfort him, but it was obvious to both of them that it was kind of weird for her to use physical comfort. He still offered a small smile because the thought was there, and he kind of liked what she said.

“You’re right,” he said with confidence in his voice. “I’m tired of waiting to figure myself out. If I know I like him, then I’m just going to ask him out.”

“Good!” Wren said encouragingly. Then she thought it over in her head and her smile wavered. “Do you know if he likes you, though?”

He swallowed hard. “Um, yes. Long story. I already kissed him.”

“Damn. So you’re further along in this thought process than I thought, huh?

Harry nodded fervently. “Already trying to plan where to take him on a date, so yes.”

“Can you even afford to take him on a date?”

 “Hey, I have  _ some  _ money!” Harry hit her leg lightly in offence.

“Yeah, but have you  _ seen _ Louis’ place? He’s not exactly living in squalor. I’d say a four-star restaurant, minimum.”

Harry grimaced. “I don’t know if that’s our style. What if I just took him to a movie?”

“You don’t even like movies.”

“What about bowling?”

“Okay, you’re going about this all wrong.” Wren sat up and crossed her legs together. She was focused now. “Instead of thinking about general date ideas, think about what you actually enjoy doing together.”

“Playing with his cat while he cleans his apartment and says no when I offer to help, and then we cook food and play Nintendo.”

“Wow, are you already married?”

“Shut up,” Harry laughed. 

“If you want to do something really romantic, I have a boombox and a Peter Gabriel album you can borrow.”

“To do what with?” Harry tilted his head in confusion.

“Really? You haven’t seen  _ Say Anything _ ?”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” he scoffed.

“I’m making you a list of required movies to watch,” Wren declared. “One day you’ll understand basic pop culture references.”

Harry was glad that he decided to go to Wren for this. She was the most helpful by far, and the easiest to talk to. Liam almost had a meltdown when he told him, and he knew Niall would probably turn into an emotionless robot. Wren was the perfect mix. Encouraging without being irrational, and serious without being dramatic. Without giving him the whole “It’s okay to be gay” speech, Wren made him feel safe and comfortable. It wasn’t some big ordeal. It was just the way it was.

Thank God for lesbians, honestly.

And for sending a friend like Wren into his life.

By the time he had to leave for work, Harry sort-of had a plan. A lot of his evening was spent with Wren dividing their stress and swapping advice. About two hours before Violet was supposed to pick her up she went into full panic mode. She thought she was dressed wrong, she didn’t know how to act, and was sure Violet’s parents were going to hate her. Harry, on the other hand, had made the grand decision to not only ask Louis out but to do it after work  _ tonight. _ He was tired of waiting, but also had no fucking clue how to ask someone on a date without the crippling fear of possible rejection. Even though he already knew Louis liked him.  _ But what if he changed his mind?  _ So much for being rational.

You could say it was a big night for their household.

Wren eventually got herself out the door because no matter how nervous she was, she’d never cancel on her girlfriend. Violet had come in to say hello to Harry as well, greeting him with a hug. They always talked about how much they needed to hang out, more to spite Wren for not letting them meet for so long than anything. Once they got around to it, they would definitely make good friends.

That night, Harry walked into work with his chin held high and his chest filled with confidence. He was going to do this tonight. No more waiting. No more second-guessing himself. He was going to ask Louis out. He really was. But as they got closer and closer to opening, he was yet to see Louis’ smiling face. Not in his office, in the backroom, behind the bar, or anywhere on the floor.

“No ones heard from him,” Zayn sighed when Harry asked. “I’ll fill in for now and hope that he shows up late.”

But later came, and so did closing, and Louis had never made an appearance. Not even a phone call to let them know he wasn’t coming in. Just radio silence. Zayn said not to worry, that it could be any number of reasons, and that they should just call him in the morning. Harry decided to trust him. Of course everything was fine. Last time everything was fine. Louis had a lot on his plate and maybe he just forgot to call. Maybe he thought he took the night off and that was why he wasn’t home. There had to be a simple explanation. Besides, Harry already had all this confidence built up and he wasn’t going to waste it. In fact, this idea sounded better than just walking up and asking.

Harry grabbed some receipt paper from the till and a pen he found in the back room, then started to write.

_ Louis, _

_ If you’re still up for it, I’d love to take you out on a date sometime. _

_ How’s Saturday at 6pm sound? _

_ Dress casual. I’ll see if I can borrow that shirt with the purple flowers. _

_ Harry _

He folded the note up and dropped it in Louis’ tip cup. It wasn’t a boombox, but it was definitely more their style.


	19. Chapter 19

Louis didn’t answer the phone on Thursday, but Harry chose to not let it bother him. Zayn had called earlier to say he got a voicemail from Mickey. Everything was fine, thank god, and Louis would call later. Supposedly. Hopefully.

Last time Harry was waiting on a phone call that was never promised to begin with, he stressed himself out to no end for three days straight. It wasn’t like Louis even saw the note yet, anyway. It would just be a friendly phone call; a check-in to make sure everything was okay on his end. He supposed he could go over there if he really wanted to see him, but with Mickey there, Harry didn’t want to stop by unannounced. Louis was always welcome at Harry’s, though, and he was well aware of it.

And that’s what led to Harry totally _not_ waiting around all day to hear the phone or doorbell ring. Definitely _not_ idly hanging around the living room rather than his own bedroom. Wren didn’t even have to ask why he was acting so strange.

“When are you going to move in with him so I can move to Violet’s?” she joked while pouring herself a cup of coffee. Harry was on his third refill and watching the midday news.

“Pfft, you think I can afford half his rent?”

Wren nodded in consideration. “Ask him to move here?”

“You’re hilarious,” Harry deadpanned. That being said, he wasn’t going to pretend like the fleeting daydreamed possibilities of the future didn’t float through his mind. When it came to real life, he was not planning on moving as fast as Wren and Violet were. Or supposedly were.  Sometimes he couldn’t tell when they were just joking or actually planning a spring wedding for next year.

Unfortunately, Wren couldn’t stay to partake in the back and forth teasing for very long. She was going out with Violet for the evening and staying the night, leaving Harry alone with his shaky knee and sweaty palms. But he wasn’t anxious. What did he have to be anxious about? Just a normal day with work tonight, where he would be seeing Louis. And Louis would be seeing the note that he left in his tip cup. And possibly accept a date that they’d be going on this weekend.

But he wasn’t anxious.

About halfway through an episode of _Family Feud—_ because what else do you do on a Thursday afternoon?—as Harry sat with his unplugged guitar in his lap trying to perfect the riff for “Homesick”, the doorbell finally rang. His stomach flipped because while it could be anyone, it also could be Louis. He rested his guitar against the arm of the couch and stood up to answer the door,  thankful that he had decided to get dressed earlier than six o’clock today.

But it wasn’t Louis. It was Niall. A very distraught, red-faced, slightly puffy-eyed Niall.

“What happened to you?” Harry asked, stepping out of the way so he could enter. 

“Do you have alcohol?”

Harry pointed to the kitchen. “Fridge.”

Wordlessly, Niall walked past him and headed right for the case of beer that was normally there. He grabbed a can, but second-guessed himself and opened the cupboard above the fridge instead. That was where he knew Harry stored their booze, so he grabbed a bottle of vodka and the carton of orange juice from the fridge instead. The concoction he made was about a fifty-fifty ratio and he took three large gulps at once. Just in case, he left the vodka on the counter.

“Want one?” Niall offered.

“Not really, but thanks,” Harry said. He leaned against the pillar in the entryway and watched him down some more. “What’s going on with you?”

Niall lowered the glass and gasped for a breath of air. “We broke up,” he said, hitting his glass hard on the countertop. “She dumped me, man. It’s over.”

“Did something happen?” Harry asked. He’d never admit it, but since he had spent three months living with them, the news wasn’t exactly surprising.

“I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to drink this vodka and cry.”

He wasn’t actually crying, but it looked like that’s what he spent the drive over there doing.

“Well, don’t cry,” Harry said in what he thought was a soothing tone.

Niall sniffled and picked up his glass again. “I’ll cry as much as I want.”

Clearly, this was territory Harry had limited experience in. He was probably not the best person to turn to for consoling, but he’d try his best.

“Okay, well, maybe don’t _drink_ as much as you want,” Harry said, reaching for the vodka bottle with intent to put it back. Before he had the chance, Niall snatched it away. He cradled it in his arms like a baby as he marched to the living room, the drink in his other hand.

“Can I invoke the couch agreement?” Niall asked. Harry really did mean it when he said he could crash on his couch whenever he wanted. The idea was never run by Wren, but they could probably sort something out. 

“Of course, man.”

“Good, because I think I’m going to live on this couch for a little while. Not gonna move at all. I have my vodka, I have my orange juice, and there’s a TV in front of me. What else could I need?”

“How about a friend to talk to?”

“Oh, shut up,” he groaned, taking another swig.

“I’m serious.” Harry sat down next to him, try to gently take the vodka bottle from his grasp. He replaced it with the orange juice glass and Niall barely seemed to notice. “What happened between you two?”

“I told you, we broke up. That’s it. Can we rent something on pay-per-view?”

“I meant what caused it, you dick.” He was not going to let Niall mope around here all day if he wasn’t at least going to explain what happened. He and his girlfriend had been together for years! They shared an apartment! This couldn’t be as simple as, “It just didn’t work out.”

“I’m not here for a heart-to-heart.”

“Just tell me!”

“She met someone else, okay?” he burst. “There’s some other dude who she’d rather be fucking and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it. It’s done.”

Harry looked down at the floor, a sinking feeling in his chest. He couldn’t pretend he knew what a breakup was like, but seeing his friend in distress just about broke his heart too.

“I’m sorry, Niall,” he said. The statement hung in the air for a moment.

“Well, what can you do?” he replied quietly, setting his cup down on the coffee table. He leaned back against the couch cushion with a sigh. Staring at the ceiling as if it would take away his pain, he folded his hands together on his chest.

Harry watched him, taking fleeting glances between him and the empty room around them. The last time Niall got broken up with, it wasn’t the immediate aftermath Harry had to deal with. It was a few days later, when that girl was all he could talk about. And then a few days after that, when he boasted about how great it was to be single again. And then the next day, when he cried in the car on their way to pick Liam up for a show. Harry didn’t know exactly how he felt, but he had an idea. He understood the _need_ to feel better, to convince yourself that you were happy. It’s nearly impossible, but you can but on a good show until you get there for real. Give Niall a couple of weeks and he’d be back to his old self. 

Hopefully.

“You know, I didn’t think that happened in real life,” Niall mused.

“You didn’t think what happened?”

“That whole ‘I met someone else’ line. I thought it was just played up for dramatic effect in horror movies.”

Harry looked at him strangely. “You mean romance movies?”

“What’s the difference?”

Without thinking, Harry snorted a laugh. That was something they could agree on, he supposed.  Niall met his eye, letting out a chuckle of his own.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do now,” Niall sighed. “I need to find a new place but all I feel like doing is sleeping for twelve hours and eating an entire pizza myself.”

That was Harry’s life a few months ago, so that was one stress he really could empathize with. “You can stay as long as you need,” he said. “Worry about finding a new place later. Besides, we’re recording an album tomorrow, right? That’ll take your focus away from it for a little while.”

“You’re right,” Niall nodded. “Can you drive me to pick up my stuff while she’s at work tonight? I just want to get it over with. The quicker I’m done with everything, the better.”

That didn’t seem to be how emotions worked, exactly. The more you tried to get over something, the more likely you were to obsessively think about it. Once you started to replace those thoughts with things in your life that mattered more, that’s when you could finally move on. That was Harry’s best guess, anyway.

Harry took a look at the clock on the cable box. It was almost six, meaning he had to be at work in an hour. Even if they left now, accounting for all the travel time, there was no way he’d make it in on time.

“Can we do it tomorrow? I have to work soon.”

“You didn’t take tonight off? You do know we have to be at the studio at nine, right?”

“Nine?! I thought it was noon.”

Niall shook his head. “Trust me, it’s nine.”

At this rate, Harry knew his best option was to just call in sick. With the number of times Zayn had, there was no way he would get in trouble for the one time he couldn’t make a shift. He was never even late for work. Well, he was _rarely_ late for work. They could survive one night without him.

Harry handed Niall the remote so he could distract himself while he headed to the kitchen to make a quick phone call. Since he had Louis’ number memorized, he quickly dialed it and listened through the rings. It went right to voicemail after two, so he figured Louis was either out somewhere with Mickey or he had gone into work early.

At that moment he realized what calling in sick would mean; he wouldn’t be seeing Louis tonight to hear his answer from the note. Maybe that would make this a little easier—lighten up a few of the nerves. But then again, he already psyched himself up for the conversation. He was ready now.

Instead, he called up Zayn. 

“You’re not sick,” Zayn stated as soon as he heard Harry’s request. He may have forgotten to put on a hoarse voice over a professional one, even though it was just Zayn.

“I am sick!” And then he coughed because sitcom jokes were real, right?

“Guess that means you’re canceling your recording session tomorrow then, huh?”

“No,” Harry stated, realizing quickly that he wasn’t going to be able to follow through with this lie. No sense in not just telling him the truth. They were friends, after all, and he’d find out about Niall’s breakup eventually.

“Niall is going through something at the moment and I need to help him,” Harry admitted. “And I may have gotten the time wrong for tomorrow and have to be there a lot earlier than I thought.”

There was a brief pause and he was ready for Zayn to tell him that excuse wasn’t good enough. Not that Zayn was his boss, but in terms of power at work, he was pretty equal with Louis. If it wasn’t for the owner being cheap, he’d probably be assistant manager.

“Alright, I’ll let Louis know.”

He let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, man. Hey, have you heard from him since yesterday?”

“Nope. No answer when I called again, either. Not even Mickey, this time. If he doesn’t show up tonight I’m kicking both of your asses.”

“I’m sure he’ll show up,” Harry said. Skipping one shift was out of character for him, so two just wouldn’t make sense at all. “Joey’s coming in tonight anyway, right?”

“That kid is useless,” Zayn stated bluntly. “But I’ll figure it out. What’s up with Niall?”

Harry turned away from the living room and lowered his voice so Niall wouldn’t hear. He was pretty zoned out into an episode of _The Simpsons_ anyway. “Looks like he’s a single man, now,” he said.

He could hear Zayn take a deep breath. “Shit. Is he okay?”

“At the moment, he’s downing a nasty ratio of vodka and orange juice, but he’ll be fine.”

“Sounds rough. Let me know if he needs anything, like a better cocktail.”

Harry breathed a laugh through his nose. “Thanks again, man.”

With that, he hung up the phone and turned back to Niall. He found a box of tissues and seemed to have already gone through ten, turning into a blubbering mess again. 

“What do you need?” Harry asked. “Food? Video games? Some headphones and a pillow to scream into?”

“Food,” he said, but it came out more like a whine. “Let’s get pizza on the way back from picking up my stuff.” Pulling his keys from his pocket, he started towards the door.

“Uh,” Harry started, eyes drifting to the vodka bottle. “Maybe I should drive?”

Niall raised his eyebrows. “You? Since when.”

“Since I got a learner’s permit last month.” 

He snatched the keys from Niall’s hand before he could protest. Technically, he was the one-third owner of that van. Until Niall realized that he could take over his share in return for the months of free rent, he had every right to drive it as he pleased.

While Harry had driven cars before, the van was another story. It was large, for one, and the steering had been slightly out of alignment ever since they got it. By now, he’d driven enough to be able to get from one neighbourhood to another, but that didn’t stop him from white-knuckling the steering wheel and cringing every time a car passed going the other way.

“I don’t see why I couldn’t bring a travel mug of vodka and orange juice,” Niall huffed from the passenger seat. He was partially joking, but he probably would have done it if Harry didn’t tell him he was being ridiculous.

“If we got pulled over, that would probably look pretty bad for our reputation, don’t you think?” Harry remarked sarcastically.

“Ha. Right.” 

It seemed as though the night of the fight on tour had completely slipped Niall’s mind until now, even though, at the time, he couldn’t have made a bigger deal about it. No bans, no police involvement, but somehow it was still going to ruin their reputation, as if they even had much of one. When it actually happened, none of them had put much thought into the situation besides “Get this creepy guy away from our friend”. There wasn’t much else they could’ve done.

“Man, I was a real dick about that, wasn’t I?”

Harry nodded. “Wren was pretty pissed at you that day.”

“Wren is pissed at me a lot of the time.”

“Well, you’re a dick a lot of the time.”

“I don’t mean to be one, you know,” Niall sighed. He rested his head against the window. “Sometimes I just feel like I’m the only one who cares about that damn band.”

In some ways, that wasn’t untrue. There was no doubting that when it came to the band’s career Niall was the one who cared the most. Wren cared about the lyrics and the performance and making sure they put on a good show. Harry did most of the arrangements for their songs and fine-tuned anything that wasn’t working in the instrumental. When it came to tech, Liam was the only one who knew anything about how to get the sound to actually work. He was basically a one man road crew. Everyone definitely played their part, but Niall got them the gigs, made sure they were there on time, talked to club manager and promoters. If it wasn’t for him, they’d still be playing the Jaded Pig on Saturdays. Actually, if it wasn’t for him, they probably wouldn’t have gotten that gig, to begin with.

Every member of Cherry Pez wanted to be there, but Niall wanted Cherry Pez to be bigger. It wasn’t a bad thing to have the most drive, except when you start to drive everyone else crazy.

“I think we should call a band meeting,” Harry said. “I know we don’t have time before we start recording, but I think we need to talk this all out before we keep going. I’m pretty sure we all have some apologizing to do.”

Niall didn’t say anything, but he didn’t disagree either. At the moment, he was much more focused on the fact that his two-year relationship was over and he just wanted to get all of his shit out of his old apartment, but he also knew Harry was right.

Harry didn’t know the last time he had this much going on in his life.

Leaving the van outside, they made their way up the stairs that Harry always hated climbing to get the apartment that Niall never wanted to have to enter again. Thankfully, it was completely empty of occupants, but it seemed as though some of the packing had already been done for him. On the bed in their room was an open suitcase next to neat piles of Niall’s clothes. She had also gone through their music and movies to divide which ones were hers and which were his. Looked like her process to deal with heartache wasn’t quite as dramatic.

“Are there any boxes around here?” Harry wondered, realizing they hadn’t actually brought anything to do the packing with.

“Uh…” Niall looked around the apartment until his eyes landed on the kitchen. Opening up the cupboard under the sink, he found their stash of plastic grocery bags and pulled about twenty out. “This’ll work. Double bag the heavy stuff.”

That was one way to recycle, Harry supposed. 

And so they got to packing, starting with the clothes and eventually creating a giant pile in the middle of the living room for everything that Niall was pretty sure was his. They weren’t hoarders by any means, but the two of them had built up quite the collection over their relationship. Unfortunately, that sent Niall on quite the trip down memory lane.

The bookshelf in the living room was where they kept most of their knick-knacks, photo frames, and anything decorative that they didn’t have another spot for. It should’ve been something Harry packed up to make this go faster, but Niall beat him to it. While looking at a particular lavender-scented candle they had gotten as a housewarming gift when they first moved in here, he started getting choked up. “Hey, don’t forget to pack up the liquor cabinet,” he said, followed by a stuffy-nosed snort. “She doesn’t drink hard liquor, anyway.”

Harry looked over his shoulder to see Niall holding the candle like a baby and staring off into space. Maybe this _was_ worse than it looked.

“Come on, man. The faster we get this done, the faster we can get out of here. You said you wanted pizza, right? We’ll get the biggest pizza we can find after this and you can cry and vent as much as you need to.”

“I want a milkshake,” Niall said. At least it was better than more vodka.

“Alright, then we’ll get burgers and milkshakes. How does that sound?”

He nodded his head slightly but didn’t say much else. Harry walked up behind him where he was still facing the bookshelf, now staring intently at a frame that held a collection of concert tickets. With a smile, Niall picked it up and turned around.

“Remember this?” he asked, pointing to one of the tickets.

Harry took a closer look, then started to laugh. “Duran Duran, 1989,” he said. “That was one of the first times we hung out.”

“And we only went because someone left the tickets in the back of Liam’s cab and he didn’t want them.”

“Who would turn down Duran Duran?” Harry joked. The group wasn’t exactly to their taste, but it was a free show and they got drunk enough to sing along to “Hungry Like the Wolf” like it was going to save their lives.

“Oh god, and remember those girls afterward?”

“Please don’t remind me.” 

Somehow, that night, Niall had convinced Harry to try to hit on the girl that was sitting in front of them in the stands. He was still very much against the idea, but it was easier to just let the plan fall apart than to argue. Putting his best wingman skills to use, Niall invited the girl and her sister out for drinks to the bar across the street. They seemed nice enough, but Harry couldn’t say much more than “Yeah” every time the girl Niall was trying to set him up with tried to talk to him. From there, it went downhill fast. While ordering a few beers without getting carded at the venue wasn’t too hard, the place they decided to go to had a doorman. The girls, being twenty-four and twenty-five, weren’t too thrilled about hanging out with a couple of nineteen-year-olds. The guys got ditched pretty quick after that, and they soon realized that Niall had been the one to drive them there. 

Driving home was definitely not happening, so they found a payphone on the side of the road. Harry sat on the curb smoking a cigarette while they tried to remember Liam’s phone number before wasting their change.

“I think it ends in a four,” Harry had said, looking up at the streetlights and trying to make his head stop spinning.

Niall was standing in the booth next to him, leaning his full weight against it. The phone hummed off the hook as Niall repeatedly hit it against forehead in frustration. “Are you sure it doesn’t end with a two?”

“No, it starts with a two.”

“This isn’t Sudoko. It can have more than one two.”

The only other numbers they each had memorized were Harry’s cousin that he used to live with and Niall’s parents, neither of whom they wanted to ask to pick their drunk asses up from a concert. There was Niall’s girlfriend at the time—the one before his most recent ex—but he never told her he was going in the first place. Harry didn’t know anyone else in the city yet, and Niall was already borrowing the car of the only other friend he knew who had one. They just had to accept that they were stuck here for the night with no money for a cab ride home.

That was when they gave up and decided to go for a stroll, trying not to freeze in the early winter breeze. It had to have been an hour that they walked and chatted, passing back and forth the flask that Niall had brought along because venue beer could sometimes get pricey. With a mix of whiskey and late-night delusions, they found themselves in the midst of a laughter-filled shouted duet of “Hungry Like the Wolf” while skipping down a street they didn’t know the name of.  The kind of moment that makes a friendship.

Eventually, they ended up in a diner where they had intended to sober up with coffee but instead decided they really wanted burgers and milkshakes. It was the perfect 2am snack for a night that turned out worse and then better than they expected. On his way back from the bathroom, Harry made a pit stop at the jukebox and put on that same song they couldn’t get out of their heads all night. He couldn’t help incorporating a little dance as he moved towards the table. As soon as Niall clued into what was going on, they sang along one more time, trying not to be too obnoxious.

Almost four years later and that was still Harry’s favourite memory since he moved to the city. It was the night he and Niall had truly become friends, and their bond only got stronger.

Except for now, when they were sat once again in a diner—not the same one but quite similar—eating burgers and drinking milkshakes just like that night, but now that magic was long gone.

“I haven’t been a good friend,” Niall admitted as he poked a fry around his pile of ketchup. “I’ve been so focused on the band and trying to work things out at home that I guess I forgot that there were other people in my life I owed some time to.”

“It goes both ways. I got so wrapped up in this new job and spending time with. . .” He paused. “You were right about some things. I haven’t been prioritizing the band as much as I should be.”

Niall started shaking his head. “This isn’t about the band, man. I’ve been treating you like shit lately and I’m sorry. You’re my best friend. You don’t deserve that.”

Getting sentimental was never a part of their friendship, but dammit, Harry loved his best friend and was feeling very appreciated at the moment. “I love you too, man,” he said, a tad too theatrically.

“I didn’t say ‘I love you—’”

“But you meant it,” Harry nodded, closing his eyes tight.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he rolled his eyes, but still let out a laugh.

“I want you to say that you love me too.”

Niall rested his arm across the back of the booth. “Since when did you become such a sap?”

“I’m a sap because I want my best friend to tell me he loves me?”

Leaning forward, his hands now closed together and a goofy grin on his face, he said, “I love you like an annoying little brother who you’re stuck with for life, and you’ll absolutely be the best man at my wedding once I decide that love exists again.”

That was exactly the kind of “I love you” he expected from Niall. And just to prove how annoyed he could make him. Harry reached his hands across the table and grabbed Niall’s head so he could kiss the top of it. Naturally, Niall did his best to swat him away.

“Alright, enough of this,” he declared. “This whole day has been about me and I don’t remember the last time you’ve told me something about you.”

Harry tilted his head, biting away a smirk.

Where did he begin…

By the time they got back to Harry’s place, they were both done with the day. They left most of Niall’s stuff in the van, only taking out his suitcase which he would be living out of for the next few days. Or weeks. Or months.

Harry really hoped it wasn’t months, but how could he talk?

For a while they just sat in the living room and watched TV, drinking chocolate milk rather than more disgusting cocktails that Niall had whipped up. The couch was already made up into a bed and Harry was starting to doze off. Since Niall was already snoring, he got up to shut off the TV and head to bed. In the darkness was when he realized the light on the answering machine was blinking. Niall could sleep through anything, so Harry groggily hit the button to listen to the messages.

Message one:

“ _Hey, it’s Zayn. Louis still hasn’t shown up tonight. If there’s any way you can make it in, just let me know_.”

*Beep*

Message two:

“ _Me again. I’ve been trying to call Louis and no one is picking up. Not even Mickey. I’m starting to get worried. It’s been almost three days since the last time I’ve heard from him. Let me know if he gives you a call._ ”

*Beep*

Message three:

“ _We have a bit of a problem. I just talked to Mickey and he said Louis hasn’t been home since Tuesday night. He didn’t know he was going to be gone this long and hasn’t heard from him either. I’m picking you up when you’re finished at the studio so we can go over there. Mickey wants to talk to us in person. Call me before you leave tomorrow. Try not to worry, though. I’m sure everything is alright._ ”

*Beep*

End of messages.

 


	20. Chapter 20

In no way did Harry want to feel ungrateful for his opportunities or angry at his friends for what was going on in their lives, but sometimes the timing just ends up being inconvenient. Harry, Niall, and Wren picked up Liam in the van so they could all show up to the studio together. On the way there, Niall vented his news and his friends tried to cheer him up, but he really didn’t want to talk about it. Today was supposed to be exciting, and despite everything, they were all a bundle of anxious excitement.

Except for Harry, who was mostly just a bundle of anxiety.

He was excited, but he couldn’t help how worried he was about Louis. If it wasn’t for Zayn’s assurance over the phone this morning that he was okay as far as they all knew, he probably would’ve bailed out of today completely. They still didn’t know for sure where Louis was, but Mickey had an idea, so that’s why Harry and Zayn were going to head straight over there as soon as Zayn was done class. 

Harry didn’t tell the others what was going on. Everyone had enough on their plates for now, and he didn’t need to make today any more hectic. Instead, he just said Zayn was picking him up because they had plans. Nothing specific, and no one pressed for details.

But Harry was still stressed, and his lips were turning red from how much he kept nervously pinching them.

They arrived at the front desk to check-in, then were told their studio number and that it was just down the hall. This place wasn’t anything like the tiny studio they (technically) broke into to record. For starters, it had more than three rooms, and those rooms didn’t include bathroom-sized recording booths. These were real session spaces, with booths big enough to set the whole band up in.

It was hard not to notice the mixing board first: an array of colours and buttons that triggered the childlike instinct to press everything, but Harry needed to keep his cool. The board took up nearly the entire length of the room, divided by the soundproof glass in front of it. Who they could only assume would be their producer was sitting behind it, chatting with the man from the record label who Harry knew as Curtis.

The whole band had only actually met Curtis twice, but he was always just slightly too happy to see any of them. His suit was tailored perfectly and his face was clean-shaven; the kind of guy that looked at his clients and saw dollar signs in their eyes. But he was their ticket to making it, and Harry had a strong feeling that any label they worked with would see them the same way.

Curtis shook hands with each of them, then introduced Roy, the producer they’d be working with, along with a list of Roy’s accolades that only sort-of meant something to any of them. Before they could even talk about recording, Curtis spent an hour going over the plans for agents and actual management since Niall couldn’t be their manager forever. Promotion for the EP and the hopes of a tour were also discussed, and that was what finally piqued Harry’s interest. Curtis was aiming for July release dates and an August tour, which meant they were going to have a busy summer. By next month, they were hoping for a single to hit the airwaves.

That was what really struck them. One month until they’d be hearing their first song on the radio. People would finally start knowing their words and learning their name.

“Oh, and ‘Cherry Pez’ has got to go,” Curtis said. “It’s a brand name, not a band name. We can’t put that on a t-shirt.”

Heads slowly turned to exchange worried glances.

“But you’re all creative. I’m sure you’ll think of something by next week, right?” he grinned. “Alright, Roy here will get you guys started and I’ll be back in an hour to check on the _process_.” His statement was matched with a strange circular hand movement in the air. “Let’s see if we can get a single today, hm?” On his way out the door, he patted Liam on the shoulder, who did not seem to appreciate it one bit.

Roy stood from his chair and offered a much more friendly smile. He had a long-ish beard and his baggy t-shirt and jeans were far more casual than that of Curtis. “And that’s why I don’t let him stick around too long,” Roy joked as he shook each of their hands. “I heard your guys’ demo and I think there’s a lot of great stuff to work with there. We can definitely get some of those tunes on the EP and I’d love to hear what else you guys have.”

The tone of the room completely shifted after that. Roy had the kind of laid back personality that they could definitely work with. It was refreshing after how much they had been talking with the suits.

“To be honest, none of us have any idea how this works,” Niall admitted on behalf of the group. “I’m sure you could tell, that demo was very amateurish.”

The others nodded their heads in agreement. Roy just smiled. “But the core was there, and that’s what matters. Remember, this is your music. I’m only here to make it the best it can be. Why don’t you guys bring your gear into the studio and just jam for a bit? I’ll listen, hit record when I see fit, see what happens. That cool?”

“Cool,” Wren nodded, picking her guitar case up and leading the group towards the open door. The rest of them collected their things and followed suit.

“Do we really have to pick a new name?” Liam whispered to Harry over his shoulder.

“I don’t even remember how we came up with Cherry Pez!” Harry stressed in return.

Overhearing their conversation, Niall turned to give him a strange look. “What do you mean? I came up with it. It’s from a line in _Stand By Me_.”

Harry was unsurprisingly confused. “Is that a movie?”

 

At first, they started playing through their setlist because that was what they were used to. This wasn’t a performance, but they still felt as though they were being critiqued. None of it came across as natural. It was like a final exam that you’re still stressed about despite actually putting in the time to study. It was mechanical and over-rehearsed. It made Harry wonder if this was what they were really like on stage and the lack of audience was only making it more apparent. 

Harry was sitting on his own stool with his guitar in his lap, a music stand in front of him that held his water bottle and half a peanut butter cookie that he took from the snack table. He had his notebook open to the page where he rewrote the lyrics to “Homesick” with Wren’s edits. It wasn’t a song they fully played together yet, but he was still quite proud of it so he thought he’d bring it along just in case. He also had a few other lyrics he started shaping, but no other full songs just yet. Maybe actually being here, in this room full of instruments and high ceilings and more cords and technology that he even knew was necessary for recording, would spark some sort of inspiration for more.

“Alright, that was great,” Roy said into the mic from the booth. “Curtis just wants to talk to me outside for a sec, so take five and when we get back we’ll start recording “Charmer” individually.”

Harry realized that he had gone into autopilot for most of the song, only now shaking away his daydream. 

“Sick,” Wren said in her mic. Harry had a suspicion that she might’ve been putting on a bit of an act, but they all were. No one wanted to be the one person to ruin it for them all.

When Roy left the room, Niall was the first to stand from his stool to stretch his legs. They had formed themselves into a circle rather than their typical performance setup. Roy suggested it, but they weren’t used to constantly seeing each other’s faces while they played.

“Can you believe this?” Niall shook his head in amazement as he looked around the room. “We’re finally fucking here.”

“It feels weird,” Wren admitted. “Whoever was playing just then was not Cherry Pez.”

“You’re right because apparently we’re not Cherry Pez anymore,” Liam said, stepping out from behind his drum kit.

“I mean, it’s not like it was a noteworthy name. We can come up with something else,” Niall shrugged.

“We’ve had that name since we started,” Harry reminded them. All their handbills they saved copies of over the years had ‘Cherry Pez’ written on them because that was who they were.

Wren stood up and walked toward the grand piano in the corner of the room. She wouldn’t call herself a pianist of any kind, but she could play a two-handed melody of repeating half and quarter notes.

“Just because we have to change our name doesn’t mean we aren’t the same people we were in Cherry Pez,” Niall said, a scoff in his throat.

“Are we the same people?” Wren mused, tilting her head. She was still playing a tune on the piano, theatrically and with purpose. Harry recognized it as the melody from his song but didn’t mention anything about it. “First we change the name, then the look, then they want to alter the sound. And what’s the gimmick?” She put on a mocking voice. ‘A girl lead singer? Well, we already had Blondie, The Runaways, The Pretenders. The Cranberries are huge right now. Not sure if we’re looking at the next Siouxsie Sioux or Joan Jett. What’s going to make you so fucking special?’”

She hit a sour note on purpose and then pulled her hands away. It was like her own frustration surprised even her.

“Is this not what you wanted?” Harry looked at her, confused. “This is what we’ve been working towards. Music on the radio, an album in stores, a tour where we actually get to leave the state of Washington.”

“It is!” she stressed. “Believe me, it is, but...”

“They’re expecting us to relinquish too much control,” Liam finished for her.

Niall rolled his eyes. “It’s just the name.”

“It’s just the first day,” Liam countered. “Look, if you want to let this band become a slave to—”

“Oh, give me a break! Did you not here Roy? We’re making our music!” 

Niall was not having it with the paranoia. This was the day they’d been dreaming of for years and it was finally happening. As much as Harry didn’t like the change either, he knew what it would have to take if this was what they really wanted. Curtis told them they could be big. He liked the sound, he liked the look, he thought having a female singer gave them a step above the rest because there weren’t enough of them right now. Just because the conditions weren’t perfect didn’t mean it was time to give up.

“How much longer is it still going to be us?” Liam said, standing up to face Niall directly. “Do you not see the red flags?”

“Maybe we can push back on the name,” Harry tried to reason.

“As if you give a shit!” Liam snapped. Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “None of you actually give a shit. Harry’s always working and off somewhere with Louis and his new friends. Wren writes by herself when she isn’t with her girlfriend. And you—” he pointed at Niall– “can only look forward to what’s next. How to get our name in lights. How to schmooze your way to the top.  And where does that leave me? The drummer who doesn’t write any of the songs. Just show up and play your fucking part, right? We’re here because Niall has the mouth of a car salesman and that’s it.”

They were all stunned at his words, tension weighing heavy in the room, but Wren was the only one who had a reply. Her tone was cold yet sincere. 

“If you don’t think we care about this band then you are not paying attention. We’re here because of _all_ of us. Because we worked hard _together_ to get here. Because they heard our demo and liked how we sounded. I don’t care if they just want money. _We_ are still making good fucking music, and this is the way we get it out there.”

“I thought you were on my side,” Liam defended bitterly.

“We’re all on the same side,” Harry told him, no room for guilt in his voice. He didn’t like being told what he thought of the one thing he’d been putting his all into from the start. This band was something he organized. He printed the flyers and hung them up, desperately hoping someone would call. Rehearsing nearly every day of the week, playing as many gigs as they could get. And now he had these friends who were like a family, doing what they loved together, and one of them had the audacity to tell him that he didn’t care.

He walked towards Liam until they were practically nose to nose, hoping to make his next words crystal clear. “If you’re not with us, then there’s the fucking door.”

Liam took a step back, his eyebrows falling to an arch. His words came from good intentions, but he was wrong. He needed to give this a chance without being put off by the suits and the contracts and the name changes. This _was_ what they wanted. It was only day one.

“I’ll be right back,” Liam said quietly. He rushed to the door but left all of his stuff behind. At least that was a good sign.

No one talked for a while after that. They were angry and slightly hurt, but not because of what Liam said to them, necessarily. They were more upset to learn that was how he actually felt. This was something they were supposed to do together, be excited about together, but Liam didn’t seem to be feeling the same way.

The silence stayed until Roy returned with Liam in his wake, which sent them into silent sighs of relief. Liam walked back into the booth and closed the door behind him.

“I’m sorry,” was all he had to say, but Harry could tell he meant it. The conversation wasn’t quite over, but upsetting each other was the last thing any of them wanted.

“It’s okay,” Harry told him, lifting a fist to bump against his. Wren and Niall sent small smiles in his direction as well. If nothing else, they were going to get through the rest of this session while they were still on speaking terms with one another.

They’d gone through fights like this before, and there was no doubting it would happen again, but just not today. Harry would plead for no more fights today.

As they filed back in the booth, leaving Niall behind to record the bassline for “Charmer”, Wren stopped Harry to see his notebook.

“Can you turn it to “Homesick”?” she asked eagerly. He could see a plan bubbling in her mind.

“Why?” Harry said, still doing what she asked anyway.

“I had an idea while we were waiting in there,” Wren grinned, scanning the lyrics. She had a mystical look in her eye. “Let’s show Roy the words to our debut single.”

 

Zayn had to wait in the lobby since they wouldn’t let him any further inside the studio. When Harry walked out, neither of them stopped for casualties. It was straight for the car, the rush being assumed.

“Have you talked to Mickey today?” Harry asked, tapping anxiously on his knee as they drove. It really had been just a day of anxious tapping.

“Only to let him know we’re coming. He doesn’t seem as worried.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t be either if he told us what was going on,” Harry snapped. His mood from the argument earlier hadn’t quite disappeared yet.

Silence followed, so Zayn turned up the radio. Harry didn’t mean act so wound up, it was just hard when he had so much on his mind. Like where the hell Louis was, the fact that his band might have just been stamped with an expiry date.

“How was recording?” Zayn wondered, trying to keep the conversation light.

At the start, it was great, but Harry really didn’t want to talk about the end.

“It was really cool,” Harry said flatly, staring out the window. “Learned a lot.”

“When’s the next one?”

“Tomorrow,” he said, but felt unsure.

When they arrived at the apartment, Mickey let them up right away. As they waited for him to open the apartment door, Harry was still expecting—hoping—to see Louis on the other side like he was used to. But it was Mickey who opened the door, with his baggy tank top and loose sweats, offering a smile as he let them in.

The place was a disaster, at least by Louis’ standards. Mickey clearly hadn’t done the dishes since he left, never mind vacuuming or tidying up any clutter. How did his own clothes end up in the living room, anyway? Mickey offered them something to drink as if this was a casual hangout and not a possible missing person meeting. Zayn still accepted a glass of ice water.

“Tell us what’s going on,” Harry said, trying not to sound too demanding but also tired of waiting around.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you on the phone, but it just felt like too much to explain. I also wasn’t sure if he wanted me to tell anybody, but…”

“Mickey, it’s been days,” Zayn said.

“I know. That’s why I wanted you guys to come here.”

They were stood around the island, Mickey in front of the sink and Zayn and Harry eyeing him from the other side. The light hung dimply above them, not doing a great job of making up for sunlight from the cloudy day outside.

“You know how this place is his dad’s, right? And how he sends him money every month?”

Harry didn’t know that. Not exactly. He knew that it was his dad’s apartment, but he didn’t know much about Louis’ financial situation. Why he would spend his time managing a bar was even more confusing now.

Zayn nodded his head, so Mickey continued.

“Well, he heard that Louis was paying for my treatment with the money _he_ was sending him. I guess that didn’t sit right with him for whatever fucking reason, so he told Louis he was cutting him off. No more money, no more apartment, no more treatment.”

Harry felt his heart drop. He tried to meet eyes with Zayn, who was only staring down at his hands. Mickey just stood there, grinding his teeth with his arms folded, trying not to let his expression give away what he was feeling.

“I’m sorry, Mickey,” Zayn said, his voice quiet.

“He left because he’s trying to work it out,” Mickey continued. “He said the only way he could get through to him was to see him in person.”

“Where does his dad live?” Harry asked.

Mickey shrugged. “Never talks about him. I didn’t even know that’s where the money was coming from until this week. I thought he just— I don’t know what I thought. When he offered to pay, I was desperate. I’ve always felt guilty, but I didn’t feel like I had a choice if...” He stopped, shaking his head.

“This isn’t your fault,” Harry said, looking him in the eye so he’d know it was true.

Mickey just stared at his hands.

“Why would Louis be gone for three days? He can’t live that far,” Zayn insisted.

“I didn’t think so either. He never even came home to pack a bag. When he called, it sounded like he was at an airport, but he wouldn’t give me any details. I think he was worried someone might follow him,” explained Mickey.

Harry shook his head in confusion. “He didn’t say when he was planning on coming back?”

“He said that he didn’t know how long it was going to take, but I thought that meant hours, not days. I figured he would’ve called with an update by now.”

“It’s because he doesn’t want us to know any of this,” Zayn said, leaning his arms on the counter in front of him, his hands clasped together. “He’s always kept quiet about that kind of thing. I’ve known the guy for years and the two things he never speaks about are his dad and money. I don’t even know what it is that his dad does. Harry’s the only reason I know about your treatment.”

In Harry’s defense, he didn’t know it was private information. Zayn knew about Mickey’s diagnosis, but Louis wasn’t too keen on the fact that he could afford to pay someone else’s medical bills getting out. There were a lot of people struggling without insurance or support in the community. Harry knew that Louis’ big heart wished he could help them all, he just didn’t have those kinds of means. But Mickey was his little brother, blood or not, so he didn’t have to think twice.

“What do we do, then?” Mickey asked. “He didn’t leave a phone number or anything.”

“What about his brother?” Harry suggested, the thought suddenly dawning on him. “He’s gotta know something, or at least have a number we can call.”

“I don’t know how to get a hold of his brother,” Mickey said.

Good thing Harry did. He jogged around the counter towards the drawer he knew Louis kept miscellaneous stuff in. Pens, scissors, coupons, receipts—that kind of thing. Shuffling the contents around, he eventually found the brown leather address book he was looking for and flipped to the right page.

“Who wants to call?” Neither of them responded as Harry looked between them. “Zayn? You’ve known him for a long time.”

“I don’t know his family,” Zayn said. “I don’t even know his brother’s name.”

“It’s Jonny.” Harry looked down at the book where ‘Jonny and Carol’ was written in Louis’ handwriting. “Did you know that his wife is expecting? Louis is gonna be an uncle.”

“He tells you more than he tells us,” Mickey said. 

It wasn’t a realization. He wasn’t letting Harry know. They all knew already. Louis told Harry things he wouldn’t tell anyone else, and Harry did the same. It took him almost twenty-two years to find someone he wasn’t scared of confiding in. Someone who would treat his feelings like they mattered instead of being an inconvenience. 

That’s what feelings often seem like, don’t they? The negative ones, at least. Pain, sadness, anxiety, anger. They’re the ones we try to get rid of to make room for happiness, even though they always come back. No one is ever grateful for the bad feelings. But pain exists not just so we can tell the good days from the bad. It exists so we know we still have a heart that’s whole enough to break over and over and still put itself back together again.

The trouble with trusting someone enough to confide in them was that just as they could help fix your heart, they could break it all on their own. Unless you got lucky. If that was the case for Harry, twenty-two years wasn’t half bad.

He’d just have to wait and see.

“There’s an address,” Harry pointed out, still staring at the page. “We could go over there and see if he’s home. Might be easier to explain who we are in person.”

“Would that be rude?” Mickey asked.

Zayn stood up straight, downing the rest of his water and picking up his keys. “I’m not sure that the rules of politeness apply when someone is missing. Let’s go.”

Harry followed Zayn out the door, the address book tucked into his jacket pocket. He held the door open for Mickey to follow, but he didn’t move.

“I think it’s a better idea if I stayed here,” he said.

Mickey didn’t look at them as he picked up Zayn’s glass and added it to the pile next to the sink. He started running the water and opened the bottom cupboard to look for the bottle of soap. Louis wouldn’t want to come home to a messy apartment, after all.

It was obvious to Harry why Mickey wanted to stay behind. He felt he was the reason for all of this. But the truth was, it was Louis’ money as soon as it left his father’s wallet, and sue him if he chose to use it to save his friend’s life. Louis still worked for a living, earning his own money to pay his bills. Harry may not have known what he did with his finances across the board, but he knew who he was seeing at work every night of the week. Without the checks, Louis would still be able to live comfortably. It was Mickey who he needed to do this for, and for that, Mickey felt guilty.

Harry understood that, but he also knew Louis well enough to know that somehow or other, he always got his way.

From the first mention of the situation, Harry didn’t fully register why Louis’ dad would cut him off for paying for Mickey’s HIV treatment. He just assumed it was because he was giving the money away. But now that he had time to consider it, he realized the cruelty of the choice and the hatred that went along with it. It wasn’t the money—for any decent person, it wouldn’t be. It was what the money was funding. Treatment for a disease that was killing millions of people and no one was taking it seriously. It was a scandal, a taboo topic, or worse, the punchline of a joke. It destroyed countless lives and put a whole community at risk with its stigma. Louis had talked about it before; the people he knew affected by it, the funerals he had to attend. The thought made Harry’s stomach churn.

There was no wondering why Louis was passionate. If you knew well enough, you would be too.

It would be about a half-hour drive since Louis’ brother lived closer to Tacoma than Seattle. This time, Harry was a little more open to a conversation now that they had a lead on where Louis could be.

“What do you think he’s going to do if he can’t get the money?” Zayn wondered out loud. He hadn’t turned the radio on, this time.

“Go back to work, I guess. I don’t know. We still don’t even know his plan.”

Zayn sighed with a tone that made Harry turn his head. “He’s not going back to work. He’s getting fired.”

“What?!”

“I don’t know if you ever met the owner, Hank, but he came in last night because I had to tell him how short-staffed we were. He knew Louis had missed two shifts without calling and he was furious. He’s always had a temper but… Maybe he didn’t mean it, I don’t know. I’ve seen a lot of staff go by his word, though.”

“Shit…” Harry said slowly. That only made this whole thing worse. If Louis really was getting cut off, he’d need his income now more than ever. By now, that job felt more like just a job for both of them. Of course they’d see each other all the time outside of work, but that was where they met. That was how they bonded, during closing cleanup and the tip cup notes.

That would mean he’d never see the last note Harry left. Until now, Harry hadn’t even thought about that note since they deemed Louis missing. It didn’t seem as important anymore.

“I’m sure Louis will beg until he gets the job back if he has to,” Zayn said, trying to lift the spirit in the car which seemed like an impossible task at the moment.

Harry wanted to agree, but just as Louis got his way, he was also stubborn. This time, though, when he knew he needed the money, he might just put his pride aside.

They showed up in front of the house they assumed had to be the right place. It was in a nice neighbourhood, two-story with a garage. Knowing what Louis’ apartment looked like, they weren’t surprised to learn that the apparent wealth was shared around the family. 

Harry double-checked the address as they got out of the car. There were two cars sitting in the driveway, neither of which he recognized. Not that he would have a reason to recognize them. They walked up the steps slowly, Zayn taking the lead. Harry kept looking at his surroundings like he’d get some sort of clue that this was, in fact, the house of Louis’ brother. But the colourful garden, sculptures of owls in the yard, and the tiny fountain that ran next to the sidewalk didn’t reveal anything personal enough. They’d just have to trust the book.

Zayn rang the doorbell and they heard it go off inside. Footsteps followed and Harry held his breath as the door swung open.

Then his face fell to confusion.

“Louis?!”


	21. Chapter 21

Well, that was that mystery solved.

Louis invited Harry and Zayn inside. The two of them were somehow both filled with questions and totally speechless. Was Louis here the whole time? That would be pretty anticlimactic if Harry was being honest. And quite frustrating, considering they had spent all this time wondering what the hell happened to him over the past few days. As far as he knew, the phones worked just fine in Tacoma.

“What are you guys doing here?” Louis asked as he closed the door behind them. They stood idly in the entryway. 

Immediately, Harry noticed how empty the house looked with boxes tucked into every corner. The walls had been stripped and every surface was bare. All that was left was the large furniture that needed to be loaded into a moving van. “This is your brother’s house?” he asked.

“It is,” Louis confirmed, anxiously rubbing his thumb into the palm of his hand. “Him and Carol. But they’re moving to Florida on Tuesday. Jonny’s condition for picking me up from the airport was that I had to help pack once I got back.”

“Right,” Zayn nodded, closing one eye in thought. “And why the hell did you go to the airport without telling anyone, exactly?”

Louis took a deep breath, letting it out as a sigh. He stepped around them and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Maybe we should all sit down and talk.”

“Are Jonny and Carol here?” Harry asked as they followed Louis through the archway into the living room. The three of them sat on the velvet couches, Zayn and Harry on one and Louis on the other. 

“They’re upstairs going through their clothes. I’m sure they won’t mind that you’re here.”

Harry sat with a leg tucked under him, waiting for Zayn to do the talking. He felt like they were doing some kind of good-cop-bad-cop routine, Zayn taking the tough love approach while Harry was more concerned with whether Louis was okay. But they had every right to be frustrated with him. It wasn’t fair for Louis to take off without telling anyone where he was going, leaving his friends to worry for days, only to end up an hour away with his brother. Harry could see the phone on the kitchen counter from where he was sitting. It made him glad that they decided to make the trip rather than just making a call.

“How did you know how to get here, anyway?” Louis asked. “I’m guessing you thought my brother knew where I was.”

Harry pulled out the address book and tossed it in Louis’ direction. It landed on his lap, so he picked it up to take a look. “This is an old number,” he said as if that mattered now.

“Why didn’t you call?” Zayn asked, his tone pleading for an answer. 

Louis looked up, holding the stare. “Did Mickey tell you?”

They both nodded.

“I just wanted to deal with it alone,” Louis stressed. “My dad, he’s—” He stopped himself, trying to think of the right words. “Have you heard of the photographer Duane Summers? Big name in music and entertainment.”

“I think so,” Harry said, but Zayn shook his head. “He was big in the seventies for touring with bands, right? He’s done a bunch of famous album covers, magazine shoots, that kind of thing,” Harry explained for Zayn’s benefit.

“He’s worked with every artist you can think of probably,” Louis continued. “From doing acid with the Beatles to snorting lines with Nirvana. I’m sure he took a few photos at some point, as well. Lately, he’s been working on a tour documentary for Madonna. He’s also my dad,” he said frankly, a tight-lipped smile on his lips.

Harry widened his eyes, nodding slowly. That answered more questions than Harry was asking. Mainly, where all the money was coming from, but the revelation also stunned him. Duane Summers was basically a celebrity, with a now-apparent fake stage name. Harry wondered what kind of stories someone like that would have. Being on the road with legends, seeing the wild world of the entertainment industry up close, being a part of—and creating—some of the most iconic images in music of the twentieth century. Harry wondered how many of those stories Louis had heard, and how many he possibly witnessed for himself.

Even though neither of them replied, Louis assumed they would want the full story. “Back in the sixties, my mom was a model,” he began. “She still is, technically, but she doesn’t work as much as she could because she’s never struggling for money. They met at an album cover shoot he was working in the mid-sixties and hit it off right away. Three months later, they were expecting Jonny with no plans to settle down. Two years and a whole lot of infidelity on my dad’s part later, I came along as well. That’s when they decided to get married, and it lasted all of five years. Then came divorce and a childhood of bi-yearly visits and monthly checks. Whenever mom went away for a shoot, dad came back for a couple of days before grandma took over. But dad’s career just kept getting bigger, and he was making more money, so he kept sending bigger checks to make up for the guilt of abandoning his family.”

The way Louis told the story was rather blunt like he had thought about it many times before and knew the truth well enough to move on from it. Even still, he had a bitterness in his voice that sounded like it was beyond warranted. Harry and Zayn listened attentively.

“When I got older, my mom cared less and less about hiding things from me. She vented all the time about his partying and arrogance and how he ruined her life despite the fact that, you know, he gave her her children. That’s when she banned music and everything that reminded her of him. Jonny decided to rebel by moving away to go to college and have a life of his own. I rebelled by following my dad on a European tour he was photographing for Depeche Mode in eighty-six. He told them I was his assistant even though he’d never even let me touch the equipment. It was a crazy two weeks, honestly. Getting to see how everything worked behind the scenes, partying with the crew, wearing that lanyard that lets you go pretty much anywhere.  He took me to see Queen in France before we left, which was the first show I ever saw from the crowd. My dad and I sort of bonded, which was why I ended up moving into his apartment with him when we got back. He was probably there for a week total over the course of a year before he told me I could just have the place to myself. Once I started shaping up my own life, dad went back to his and stopped returning calls. So I got a job of my own and starting stuffing his checks in a bank because I knew eventually the money would run out, like now.”

Louis stopped to let the story sit for a moment. He needed the time to think before he could continue, and Zayn and Harry the time to process.

“That sounds like a lot to deal with,” Harry said once he had found the right words. Louis nodded slowly, biting his lips together.

It made sense, now, why Louis never talked about that part of his life. He didn’t want to have to think about it. If he could just move on and stop wishing that part could be better, he could remember to enjoy everything good about his life. Appreciate the people who hadn’t let him down.

“Wait, where was it that you went?” Zayn asked, realizing that was something they hadn’t gone over yet.

“New York.”

Zayn raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You flew to New York? When did you get back?”

“This morning,” Louis said like it was nothing. “He’s working from there right now. It took a while to track him down, but I did.”

Harry leaned forward, “...and?”

“And… I’m cut off. That’s it. No more money. There was no getting through to him and the harder I tried the less I wanted to even be in the same room. I did convince him to give me the apartment, though. A parting gift, if you will.”

Harry thought about Mickey again and his heart sank. “Just because you were paying for Mickey’s treatment? How did he even find out?”

“It was my stupid fault.” Louis shook his head, scratching his hairline. “Mickey was coming home from work on Tuesday and the building manager saw him go into the apartment. I didn’t tell her I had someone moving in, so she called up my dad asking if he knew who was at his apartment. Dad phoned the apartment, so Mickey called me at work to give me the message. I don’t know why I bothered calling him back because he would’ve forgotten about it by the next day, anyway. The screaming match didn’t last long before I hung up and headed for the airport.”

Louis wasn’t looking at either of them when he spoke. His eyes were all over the place. Looking at his hands as he picked at his fingers, watching the birds sitting on a branch outside the bay window, staring blankly at the ground as he laughed when no one else did. This wasn’t a story he liked to tell. He’d only ever told it to one person before, and that was before Mickey. Before the story had an end.

He took a breath and continued. “You know, when I told him I was gay a few years ago, I knew he wasn’t cool with it. He tried to make it seem like he didn’t care, but when it’s never brought up again, when he stops calling and asking me about my life, I know why. I think he was just looking for an excuse.”

Harry swallowed hard. “Louis, I had no idea—” 

“It’s fucked up. All of it,” Louis cut him off, his expression saddening for the first time. “But I have a plan. I’m going to figure this out so Mickey won’t have to worry. Please, just,” Louis gulped, “don’t tell him about the money. I’m going to take care of it. The last thing I want is for him to think he’s a burden and take off.”

“We’ll keep is between us,” Zayn said, and Harry nodded his agreement.

“I am sorry I didn’t call,” Louis told them sincerely. “I thought Mickey might fill you guys in, but I guess I didn’t give him a ton of information either.”

“We’re just glad you’re safe,” Harry said. “We didn’t know what to think when you disappeared like that.”

“Oh,” Zayn said just as a thought popped into his head. “You really need to call Hank. Like, as soon as possible.”

Louis’ head fell against the backrest of the couch. “Shit, I didn’t even think of that. I was so heated when I got that phone call that I just headed straight to the airport. Fuck…” he scolded himself again.

“Just talk to him before he makes any decisions he’s going to regret.” Zayn hoped what he was implying was getting through to him.

“Yeah,” Louis nodded, already standing up. “I’ll call him.”

That felt like a cue for Harry and Zayn to get out of there. They offered Louis a ride home, but he said Jonny would drive him into the city later in the day. He still had some business to take care of, including submitting the documents that transferred the ownership of his apartment to his name. The quicker he could dissociate from his dad, the better.

Louis walked them to the door, thanking them for their concern and assuring them that he would be back tonight. Conveniently, Zayn had to grab something from the car before they left, which really was a not-so-subtle way of giving the other two a chance to talk privately for a moment. While Zayn was the one friend Harry hadn’t confided in about his emotional turmoil, he was sure Louis had done his fair share of venting. Zayn knew exactly what he was doing by leaving.

The first thing Harry did once they were alone on the porch was pull Louis into an urgent hug, his arms tight around Louis’ torso. Louis squeezed back just as hard. He sighed into his neck.

“Do you know how worried I was about you?” Harry asked.

“I’m sorry,” Louis said again his words muffled by Harry’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to make anyone worry.”

“God, and all that stuff about your dad. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that.” He let Louis go, still holding him at arm’s length.

“I’ve had a lifetime of dealing with his bullshit. I can deal with this, too.” Louis smiled reassuringly when he said it. He didn’t want Harry to have to worry any more than he already would. 

“You’ve just been stressing me out for weeks, haven’t you?” Harry said, partially kidding.

But Louis’ hopeful grin fell. If anything, his face immediately filled with concern. “Harry, if this isn’t what you want—”

“No!” he quickly protested. “I didn’t mean it like that. It  _ is  _ what I want. That’s what I spent all this time realizing. I just didn’t want to drag you along while my brain couldn’t make up its mind.”

“Oh.” Louis smiled again.

“Look, I know this is probably terrible timing, but would you maybe want to go out sometime? I know this is a boring way to ask and I had this whole cute thing planned— Well,  _ I _ thought it was cute, but I—”

“I’d love to,” Louis said.

Harry stopped his rambling to process that Louis said yes: the answer he was most hoping for. He realized then that he had never actually asked someone out before. Never properly, anyway. Not getting rejected was a pretty good way to start things off.

“This week seems like it’ll be pretty busy for both of us, so how about next Saturday?” Harry suggested.

Louis nodded. “Next Saturday sounds great.”

“Cool,” Harry said, even though that was the last thing he was feeling on the inside. In reality, his heart was thumping out of his chest and his hands had gotten instantly clammy. But he was also relieved because he knew this was what he wanted all along, and now it was really happening. 

Next Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.

Zayn never came back to say bye, so Harry walked back to the car on his own. He slid into the passenger seat next to Zayn, who was watching him knowingly as he started the engine. Harry tried to hold back his smile by biting on the insides of his cheeks, but it really wasn’t working.

“So,” Zayn said as he pulled away from the curb, doing a u-turn down the quiet neighbourhood street. He was wearing a shameless smirk. “How’d it go?”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, but the exciting feeling never went away. “Ask me next Sunday.”

 

The rest of the week brought more time in the studio for Cherry Pez, and a whole lot of writing sessions to see what they actually wanted their sound to be for the EP. Harry was starting to feel like he lived in that studio since the only time he was ever at home now was to sleep and shower. The worst part was that he still had to work, meaning a lot of late nights while still trying to get out of the house by ten in the morning. 

So far, Louis had not shown his face in Club Rose since the day he disappeared. That made closing shifts feel a lot more lonely, but at least he still had Zayn around. In the meantime, Zayn had been assigned to take over Louis’ manager position temporarily. He felt weird about taking his friend’s job, but someone had to do it and he had no interest in quitting. When Harry eventually called Louis to ask what was going on, all he got was a “Don’t worry. I’m sorting it out.” That was Louis’ motto. He could handle anything, just no one else get in his way.

Harry also called to confirm the details of their date, which was something he had spent the whole week looking forward to. Even with all the working and the writing and the anticipation of releasing their music, Louis was still circling his mind. Harry already knew what he was planning, but all he told Louis was to be ready at six and dress casual. He’d plan everything and even pick him up. There wasn’t anything to worry about in terms of transportation. They wouldn’t be going too far.

But first, Harry had to get through the day. 

Before they headed to the studio that morning, Liam phoned everyone asking if they wanted to go for breakfast. At this rate, they didn’t exactly have time to sit down for a restaurant meal, but they did have time to make a pit stop at McDonald’s on the way there. What worried Harry, though, was that Liam had called this a band meeting.

“Did you really order hotcakes?” Wren asked Niall as he sat down next to her with his tray. He also got a carton of chocolate milk to go with it rather than coffee like the rest of them.

“What’s wrong with hotcakes?” Niall defended.

“They’re just soggy dough covered in sugar.”

“Yeah, and they’re delicious. At least I didn’t order four hashbrowns and nothing else.”

Harry looked up with his eyebrows creased together. “Hey,” he said as he slid into the hard booth next to Liam. “I ordered a coffee, too. I don’t like eggs.”

Even though it meant more quips at his expense, Harry was glad to see Niall and Wren getting along again. After their last argument, Niall had taken Wren out for lunch so they could have a proper conversation with a long-awaited apology and a heart-to-heart, just like the one he had with Harry in the diner. Those two always were great friends, you’d just never know it if you got stuck in a room alone with them. 

“Maybe that’s what we should change our band name to,” Wren said as she unwrapped her breakfast sandwich. She and Liam both got the same thing. “Hotcakes.”

“Do we have to be named after food?” Niall complained. “Why don’t we use an animal, like,” he looked around the restaurant until he spotted an ad for chicken nuggets. “Rabid Chicken?”

 “No.” Wren shut it down immediately. “I’m not even going to tell you why it’s bad, that’s how much I hate the name.”

“It’s not that bad!” he huffed. “What do you think, Harry?”

With how much Harry had on his mind recently, the last thing he was thinking about was what they were going to change Cherry Pez’s name to. To him, the band always would be Cherry Pez, and in the back of his mind, he was hoping that the people at the label would eventually change their mind about its saleability.

“How about Strawberry Pez?” he said offhandedly. Josie always did think that the Strawberry ones were better, and kids tend to know best. He smiled so they didn’t think he was serious.

From across the table, Wren nudged Liam who was squeezing a ketchup packet very slowly into the corner of his wrapper-turned-plate. “You’ve been quiet,” she said. “Any name suggestions?” 

He looked up, suddenly realizing he was also part of this conversation. “I haven’t really thought about it,” Liam quickly replied before taking a bite of his sandwich.

The other three exchanged glances, confused by his jumpy behaviour. Normally, Liam was the fun one. Typically quiet, but willing to be the pleasant relief in any situation. Before last week, he had never fought with any of them, but ever since, he had remained on edge. He was quieter now, and that meant something had to be wrong.

“So, why’d you call a band meeting?” Harry wondered, casually picking off a piece of one of his hashbrowns—yes, he did actually get four—and dipping it into Wren’s ketchup pile. She hit his hand away, and he just grinned back as he popped the ketchup-covered bite into his mouth.

Liam started chewing faster, using a napkin to cover his mouth full of half-chewed food as he spoke. “I wanted to talk to you guys about how you thought this was working out.”

“Recording the EP?” Niall clarified.

Liam sort of shrugged and then nodded his head as he took another bite.

“The process is taking a lot longer than I expected, but that’s just the way it is,” Niall admitted. “Albums can’t really be recorded and mixed all in one night like an amateur demo.”

“But it’s great,” Harry added. “It’s only been a week, but I think we can all say that this has been a hell of an experience, am I right?”

Niall and Wren nodded their agreement, but Liam was more hesitant. He put down his food slowly and wiped off his hands. Not once today had he made eye contact with any of them. All at once, Harry got a feeling that he knew what was coming.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it into the studio today, guys,” Liam said.

Niall looked around in confusion, almost laughing. “What do you mean? That’s where we’re going right after this.”

Maybe Harry was the only person who was catching on, or maybe he was just wrong. That would be the better scenario, actually, but one look on Liam’s face made him think otherwise. Harry turned his head away from his friends, burying his chin in his shoulder. He watched the elderly people who were meeting their friends for a weekend get together. The families who had dragged their kids out so they could get out some energy in the PlayPlace earlier in the day. Part of him always did envy other people’s versions of normal. Harry turned back and braced himself for what Liam would say next.

“I got an offer from Sweet Water,” Liam said with a sigh. 

Harry watched as the faces of his bandmates fell. Now they were all beginning to flip to the same page.

“They wanted a new drum tech for their next tour. A guy who can also work the wires and tune other instruments when needed. After we opened for them that night, I and got to know them a bit and they told me I’d be a perfect fit. And—guys—to me, that sounds more exciting than making an album. That seems like a pretty clear sign of which path I should be headed on, don’t you think?”

“For how long?” Wren asked. Harry wondered if she thought that meant he was planning on coming back once the tour was over.

“A couple of months, but they want me to stick around for the next time they need me. I would be able to tour with other bands afterward. They told me they’d put a good word in.”

“So what does this mean?” Niall prodded.

“It means…” Liam took a deep breath. “You guys are probably going to need to find a new drummer for Cherry Pez. Or Rabid Chicken or Strawberry Pez or whatever you decide to change it to.”

“Don’t roadies make shitty pay?” Harry said as if that would change his mind at this point.

“I’d make more than I do now. Not a ton more, but more.”

Everyone seemed to be at a loss for words. For three years, they had been a band. Their lineup only ever increased by one, never decreased. Harry tried to imagine bringing in a new drummer. Some fresh-faced kid who they didn’t have a history with, with a sound they didn’t recognize from playing in his basement nearly every night of the week. Without Liam, the band wouldn’t be Cherry Pez. But it wasn’t Cherry Pez anymore anyway, Harry supposed.

“Look, I know the timing sucks because we just signed a deal, but this is what I need to do. I’m better working behind the stage than being on it. I still love you guys like my siblings and I hope you guys end up being one of the biggest bands in the world, but if anything, I’m not passionate enough to do anything but hold you guys back.”

“You don’t hold us back,” Harry tried to reason, but Liam’s mind was already made up.

“I’m holding me back,” Liam said with as much sincerity as he could foster without sounding cheesy. “I am sorry, you guys. You’re my best friends, but this isn’t what I want.”

Everyone’s eyes had fallen to their hands, mouths twisting to the side and minds lost in thought and disappointment. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Wren sighed. “We get it, and I think we could all feel the distance. Do what’s best for you.”

Harry put his arm around Liam, pulling him closer to his side for a hug. As much as he didn’t want him to quit, it was a gesture of reassurance. If this was the right decision for him, they would support him all the way. But they’d miss him like hell. That was for certain.

Harry looked at Niall and knew exactly what he was thinking. What’s the label going to think? How are we going to find a new drummer with such short notice? What if no one else has the same chemistry? That was just how his mind worked. Before it processed feelings, it went into crisis management mode. But he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he looked up and Liam with a warm smile.

“You’re gonna do great on that tour, man,” he said. “I’m glad that you’re doing the right thing for you.”

“Thank you,” Liam said with a nod. “And you guys can still use the basement to practice until you find a bigger space. Just because we aren’t going to be in a band together doesn’t mean we have to stop hanging out all the time.”

“You’re really okay with us invading your house every day? Even with a new drummer?” Wren raised an eyebrow.

Liam shrugged, and the ease of it made his relief apparent. This could’ve gone so many different ways. Fights, feelings of betrayal, confusion. But they got it. Before they were Cherry Pez, they were just a group of friends who supported each other. The band didn’t define them. That was up to themselves all on their own.

 “Maybe you can hire me for your first big tour,” Liam suggested. “You still have my number.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, honestly. That guy really knew his shit when it came to tech. If he came along on tour, they’d still be living out all their future rock star fantasies together. It would be different than they imagined, but ‘together’ was the keyword there.

“You’re hired,” Niall said with an amused smile, but he meant it. It was the quickest he ever made a band decision, and it was one he was already pretty sure of.

And that was it. Cherry Pez as they once knew it was no more. 

In a few weeks' time, even the name itself would be only a memory. Part of their origin story in an unofficial biography written about them in ten years. They were still a band with a recording contract and a sound they were just starting to fall in love with, but nothing was going to be the same. Harry would be upset if it wasn’t for the fact that everyone seemed so damn happy as they drove Liam back home, laughing and reminiscing before they had to head to their studio for their first drummer-less session.

As he sat across from Wren in the back of that van, Harry thought of how much different everything was now than just a few months ago. How quickly everything changed. How much he would dread it if he ever had to go back to the way things used to be.

Not long ago, Harry had decided he was okay with the double life he had been living between Seattle and his family back in Utah. His parents didn’t need to know the details of his personal life to have a relationship with their son. It wasn’t a forever situation, and Harry didn’t want it to be. It was just his right now, and that was something he was comfortable with. A necessary circumstance until his lives could merge in harmony. One day it would happen. Maybe not soon, maybe not with ease and without uncertainty, but it had to. He couldn’t imagine a Christmas without his mother’s cooking, those drives in the snow with his dad, and bonding with his sister who he loved more than the world. If no one else, he knew Josie’s love for her big brother would always be unconditional. At least he could take solace in that.

Harry really had to remember to call home soon…

Here in Seattle, the place that truly felt like home, it had changes of its own. Harry had his best friend living on his couch, which took fewer than six months to be a complete one-eighty. And in that time he had met Wren, who reignited his drive for success in every way and offered her friendship that Harry didn’t realize how much he needed. And there was Zayn, who guided Harry on a path he didn’t even know he was on, only to reach Louis at the end. Louis, who was waiting ever so patiently for something he wanted just as bad. Who was kind and caring and funny and charming and everything that made Harry better. 

But before all of that, there was Niall and Liam. Harry’s brothers in arms. The original Cherry Pez. The shittier Cherry Pez. The first people who made him feel comfortable with who he was. Friends that loved him regardless of his faults, his laziness, his joblessness. Only a true friend lets you sleep on his couch for three months, or picks you up from work at three in the morning when he could be taking other jobs. Harry could only hope he was showing them the same care. 

It’s a cliche to say that music brings people together, but Harry didn’t know what else to thank. Even when it came to someone who claimed he didn’t  _ do  _ music, a poster for a show was what made that person etch a significant mark on his life, and who he hoped wouldn’t be leaving it any time soon. Maybe for Harry, music had just become the glue of his existence, but the kind that was applied by a toddler, spilling out of all the edges onto the craft table. In his life, music was more abundant than anything else, and it was what seemed to make all the important people stick. 

And now they were dropping Liam off, saying a goodbye that didn’t quite mean what it sounded like. They’d probably see their friend again tomorrow, but today set them on a course that would see them further apart than ever in a year’s time. But that was okay because they’d be on their own paths to their right purpose. For starting here, together, they couldn’t be more grateful.

Harry had to remind himself that he was still living the origin story of his life. They all were, and he was thrilled to get to watch how the rest of them would turn out.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It has been so long since I last wrote a fic with this many words that I forgot how much work it was. Now that it's finally finished, I'm both relieved and excited to share the end! These last two chapters don't really require much of a warning, so I'll just leave you to it.  
> To everyone who has been keeping up with updates, commenting, leaving kudos, and reading this long after it's been posted, thank you so much for your support and kind words; it really means so much! I fell in love with this world and these characters and I'm so happy that other people seem to like them too.  
> If you have any final thoughts, feel free to talk to me in the comments! If you'd like to follow me on Tumblr and chat there, you can find me at [kiddleau](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kiddleau). If you want to read any of my other music-based/historical fics, I'd love it if you checked out my [Woodstock series](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14621288/chapters/33790337).   
> Thank you so much again and I hope to see you soon!  
> -K

Technically speaking, Harry was not a thief. Yes, he did use to have a tiny shoplifting habit, but it was never anything over five dollars. Okay, maybe ten dollars. It was mostly packets of chips or gum or newspapers that should be free anyway. Maybe a CD one time, but that felt too risky to ever attempt again. But now that he had a little extra money from his advance on the recording contract and savings from his job at the bar, he decided that he was okay with splurging on some new clothes. If you asked Wren, he needed a whole new wardrobe. That’s why she was his shopping companion when Harry decided to get a fresh outfit for his big date.

Despite his note that he was never sure Louis even got, Harry couldn’t borrow that shirt from Niall’s now ex-girlfriend for obvious reasons. Instead, he went out and found something that better suited him. Not a suit or anything fancy, but he got himself a couple of t-shirts that fit his frame a little better with a breast pocket sewn into the design. For tonight, he paired a light purple one with his new jeans. Slim, free of holes, and a great match with his new coat. No more oversized military jacket with too many pockets. This was a dark grey coat with thin leather that Wren assured him he could wear with almost anything. For once, Harry felt presentable when he looked in the mirror. Not like he was trying too hard or too little. It was comfortable and casual and perfectly him.

Wren dropped Harry off at Louis’ a little earlier than he said he would be there and Mickey was the one who let him into the building. He couldn’t take the bus since he had a few things he needed to bring along to set up, and he didn’t want to let Louis in on the surprise just yet. But as promised, at seven o’clock sharp, Harry was knocking on Louis’ door.

Louis answered expectantly, a smile already on his face. He greeted Harry with a hug, surprised to see the bouquet of flowers in his hand. 

“I wasn’t sure what kind you liked,” Harry said nervously, but he was more focused on how incredible Louis looked. He was wearing a sport coat like he did at work but dressed down to casual. A sweet citrus aroma of cologne floated off his shoulder. Harry was relieved now that he knew his own cologne choice wasn’t overboard.

“I like any flower. They’re beautiful,” Louis told him happily. 

He invited him in and brought the bouquet to the kitchen to fill a vase. It didn’t surprise Harry to learn he was the kind of guy to already have a vase tucked up in a cupboard, ready to go. That was a purchase he would never, himself, consider unless prompted.

Harry glanced around the room to check for Mickey’s presence, but his door down the hallway was latched shut. He suspected Louis sent him there at the sound of the knocking door. Deja wasn’t sentenced to a room though, so she made sure to greet her favourite guest when he leaned down to pet her. 

“Where are we going?” Louis wondered as he placed the vase on the dining room table. It wasn’t on purpose, but the colours of the flowers really complimented the room.

“Follow me,” Harry said with a sly smile as he walked back to the door. He opened it wide so Louis could leave first, then made sure to wave goodbye to Deja before shutting it behind him.

“Should I be bringing my keys?” Louis wondered. 

Harry shook his head. He was still months away from taking his road test, but luckily the plans he made avoided that dilemma.

They reached the end of the hall and Harry opened the door for the stairwell, which gave Louis a pretty quick indicator of where they were headed now. Nothing would make Harry take the stairs unless they were the only option.

“I love this jacket,” Louis said as he walked through the door, pinching at the bottom hem of Harry’s open zipper.

“Thanks, I figured it was time for a change,” Harry said, following Louis up the stairs. He was pretending he didn’t already know what this was, but the fact that he didn’t need to be told which way to go was a pretty big giveaway.

“Well, you look really good,” Louis told him. 

Harry looked him up and down, not even trying to hide that he was checking him out. “So do you.” 

As they walked up the steps, Louis reached for Harry’s hand without saying anything. Harry wasn’t shy about holding it.

Louis opened the door for the roof, not giving Harry much of a chance to do it first. That prompted Harry to quickly jog past him to open the second one. His gentlemanly instincts were guiding him through tonight. 

Harry didn’t have to do very much to decorate for the date. The sunset helped a lot for that, casting its glow over the patio of the roof. No one else was there since Harry convinced the doorman to put up a notice saying the space would be out of service for the evening. Candles were lit around the table that was set for the two of them, a bottle of Louis’ favourite white wine in the centre. Harry had even brought along Wren’s old boombox so they’d have some quiet background music to add to the ambiance. Right now, it was set to a radio station playing Soundgarden, but it was still quiet.

“You did all this?” Louis asked in amazement as they took their seats. Really, Harry didn’t do a lot, but this felt like the perfect kind of date for them. Quiet and alone in a place they discovered together. Well, Deja discovered it for them.

“Mickey helped set it up,” Harry said as he pulled over the covered spread that was prepared in advance. “I thought we could have a bit of a picnic.”

Wren had helped him make tiny triangle sandwiches, cut up cubes of cheese to go with the grapes, and put the potato salad in a different container so it wasn’t so obvious that it was store-bought. Harry lifted the pre-corked bottle of wine to fill each of their glasses, and they clinked them together in cheers to themselves because that was all tonight was about.

“I wanted to tell you some news,” Louis said as they began digging in.

He looked eager to reveal whatever it was. Harry turned to him with a smile. “What is it?”

“You know how I was kind of fired from Club Rose for skipping shifts?”

Harry nodded slowly, waiting for more as he popped a cheese cube into his mouth.

“Well, I talked to Hank and decided I didn’t want my job back.”

“No?” Harry was not liking the sound of this so far.

“Nope,” Louis said confidently. “I offered to buy the place from him instead.” 

Harry widened his eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Yep. I’m taking the whole business off his hands. I had some money saved up, gave him an offer he was happy with, and now we’re going to sign the papers on Monday. The lease gets turned over to me next month.”

“Wow.” Harry shook his head in disbelief. That’s one way to get your job back, he supposed. “So you’re going to be the new owner of Club Rose?”

“Actually,” Louis took a quick sip of his wine, “for maybe a year, yes. But I think I want to eventually close down the bar and open up something else.”

“What did you have in mind?”

The way he was folding his hands together and chewing on his lip, Harry could tell he was eager about this idea, whatever it was. His excitement was contagious. Even if Harry would be out a day job, he didn’t care. If life went his way, he’d be leaving Club Rose by the end of the summer anyway. Not Louis, though. If life went his way, that wasn’t something he needed to be concerned about.

“I want to convert it into a centre for gay youth. Well, anyone in the community, but especially the young people. It’s a crucial time in their lives for needing support. If I have the resources and commitment, then I think it’s what I should do.”

“That’s…” Harry nodded slowly, “an amazing idea. You should absolutely do it.”

“Yeah? Zayn liked the idea too. I think he might go in on partial ownership somewhere down the line. It’s something he’s passionate about, too.”

“You’re going to be saving lives, Louis,” Harry told him sincerely. He wanted him to know that it was a fact.

Louis shrugged because he could never let anything get to his head. “I just want them to be able to have the lives they deserve.”

They finished the rest of dinner and watched the sunset, finishing off that bottle of wine until the sky fell to darkness. Sitting together on the couch, shoulders overlapping and looking up at the specks of stars that were barely visible in the city light, they chatted and nibbled on the small chocolate cake Harry bought for dessert. No plates were necessary. They just took off the lid, got two forks, and rested the whole thing on the cushion between them.

It was nice to be able to just relax and talk about life. Talking to Louis was so much easier than talking to anyone else, Harry found. There was something about him that left no room for judgement in his words or thoughts. He took people for what they were, every flaw and misstep included because he had just as many. Not in Harry’s eyes, but as he would discover each beautiful imperfection, he’d learn to love each one more than the last.

Louis was not a passing figure in Harry’s life. No matter what, that was something he knew for sure.

Soon, without the sun peeking over the horizon, it was getting a little chilly, so Louis suggested they hang out in the apartment instead.

“But Mickey is still home,” Harry pointed out.

Not that Mickey would likely leave his room, but Harry was well aware that Wren was spending tonight at Violet’s place, and Niall had gone out to a bar with a few friends. He had no expectations but did like the idea of having a place to themselves while watching a movie and having another drink a lot more.

Harry suggested they watch _Labyrinth,_ a movie Louis lent him a couple of months ago, but he never got around to watching it. The main selling point was that David Bowie starred in it, and Harry considered himself a fan. He was sure the tape was still sitting in his room somewhere.

It was already getting late by the time they got to Harry’s place, but neither of them had commented on the time. Harry asked Louis to fix them the drinks since the search for the movie would take a couple of minutes. He first checked the top of his dresser, then his bookshelf before ransacking his closet. Louis must’ve heard the commotion because he strolled into the room holding two cups in his hands.

“Need some help?” he asked, placing them on top of the only clear spot on Harry’s dresser.

Harry looked up in a mild panic. Louis was not supposed to be in here. Since he wasn’t planning on the night ending up back at his place, he didn’t consider tidying his room. Thankfully the living room had already been cleaned today, but that was because it was both Harry and Wren’s day off. You couldn’t expect him to do _more_ work when he was already anxious enough about tonight.

“Sorry, I didn’t have time to clean,” Harry said, trying to frantically pick up the clothes from off the ground. They were his many attempts at finding the right combination for tonight.

“What do you mean? Your bed is even made.”

The only reason it ever got made was that he slept with just a comforter and two pillows, which was pretty easy to straighten out when he first got up in the morning. A mess of clutter and clothes filled the rest of the space. Good thing he took out all those dirty plates when he did the dishes this morning.

“Your cactus!” Louis said as he crossed the room to the windowsill where the tiny potted plant he had picked out for a housewarming gift was sitting. He peered his head around it, inspecting all sides. “It’s lookin’ pretty healthy.”

“It’s alive, yes,” Harry affirmed. When he first set it there, he made sure to check the little stick of instructions that it came with. Keep in sunlight and water once a week: two things that seemed simple enough. Taking care of any other living thing was probably outside of his skillset if Harry was being honest. A cactus was right on the brim.

As Louis took a peek at the bookshelf next, Harry stepped over to his dresser to try to make it look neater. Not that they were planning on hanging out in here, but he had to admit that the mess was a little embarrassing. Louis didn’t need to see that he owned three sticks of deodorant because he kept forgetting if he was out when he did his list-less shopping. 

“Have you been listening to much of these?” Louis wondered as brushed his fingers over the collection of records that used to live in his apartment. Harry had them stored in a milk crate next to his bookshelf as any die-hard music fan should.

“All the time.” Harry grinned over his shoulder. That record player remained one of the nicest presents anyone had ever gotten him. He had to make sure he got as much use as possible out of it.

Louis didn’t say anything for a few moments while Harry tried to subtly toss clutter into his dresser drawers. But then he heard the quiet sound of static and turned to see Louis hovering over the turntable.

“What did you put on?” Harry wondered.

Louis held up the cover for _Queen Greatest Hits_ and laughed to himself. “I know you like Queen, and these are the ones I actually know.”

Harry smiled. “They’re the greatest hits for a reason,” he said.

This movie was still missing and Harry was running out of places to look. Under the bed was another option, but that was a place he had never wanted to search. It had only been a couple of months, but he didn’t know what kind of unpleasant surprises lurked under there.

Louis must’ve put on the B side because “We Will Rock You” was the first song to play and Harry had listened to the album enough to know that side A began with “Another One Bites the Dust”. He wasn’t such a music snob that he would solely listen to core albums over compilations. Sometimes he was just in the mood for the hits.

“Are these how you quit smoking?” Louis asked, holding up the stack of the tapes Liam had bought for him. They were sitting on his desk next to another five piles of tapes. It seemed like he was doing a better job of snooping rather than helping look for the movie, but Harry didn’t mind.

“They helped, sort of.” Harry arched his eyebrows. “I’d thank the Nicorette more, though.”

“You still haven’t been smoking, then?”

Harry shook his head. “It’s been about two months, I think.”

“That’s great,” Louis said as he slid the tapes back on the shelf. “I’m proud of you.”

Harry could feel his cheeks flush ever so slightly. Those were four words he hadn’t heard very often, so when he did, it meant a lot.

He realized that Louis had abandoned the two drinks he made on the dresser he was cleaning off. But there wasn't any wine in these cups, nor were they glasses filled with whiskey or any other semi-fancy drink he assumed Louis would make.

“You poured us chocolate milk?” Harry asked in amusement as he tilted the glass to his mouth. 

Louis looked up at him and widened his eyes at the size of Harry’s gulp. “Careful! There’s two shots of rum in there.”

Trying not to cough, Harry lowered his glass and swallowed shallowly. It wasn’t bad, per se, but it wasn’t a flavour he was expecting before it hit his tongue. “Rum and chocolate milk?”

 “You didn’t have a lot of options for mixers in the fridge.” Louis defended. “Thought I’d get creative. Does it taste like rum and eggnog? That’s what I was going for.”

Harry took another small sip. It wasn’t as bad when you were expecting it, but it was still a strong and _interesting_ combination. He did like chocolate milk though, so he’d drink it. He handed Louis his glass as well.

On the floor in front of Harry’s closet was his guitar, the case open so his Hendrix could breathe. He watched Louis walk towards it next, deciding he kind of liked the snooping. It wasn’t very often they hung out here instead of Louis’ place. While Harry practically knew Louis’ apartment inside and out, this was a part of Harry’s life that he hardly ever stepped foot in. So Harry sat on his bed, sipped his strange chocolate milk and rum concoction, and let Louis explore.

Instead of bending down to pick up his guitar, which Harry was briefly worried Louis would do, he reached for the Scooby-Doo Pez dispenser that had been sitting in its case for a few months now. Harry never forgot it was in there. For a while, he would eat one of the candies before his show in hopes that it would bring him the luck that the dispenser originally promised. It didn’t take long for it to run out, and Harry had really been meaning to refill it. Imagine telling that story in an interview one day, Harry thought. That in the early days of the band he actually used to eat the candy they were named after just for good luck. It was the kind of corny story that bands would lie about for the laugh. The worst part was that he did it when no one was looking like it was some kind of secret. When he told Louis that story, he just laughed.

“That’s kind of adorable,” he said.

“It is not!” Harry argued, but he would admit that it did feel quite silly.

“I’m surprised you kept it. I just thought it was a funny gift for that night.”

Harry shrugged. “The luck seemed to be working. I couldn’t throw it away.”

Louis sat next to him on the bed, still holding the Pez dispenser to play with absentmindedly in his hand that wasn’t holding his drink. It made Harry a little uneasy to be so close, but in a way he liked. He wondered if Louis was getting the same feeling of butterflies coming and going throughout the evening. 

“I really like spending time with you, you know,” Louis told him, peering gently into his eyes. “Tonight, for sure, but these last few months… It’s really meant a lot to me. Is it okay if I say that?”

Harry tilted his head in confusion. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“I guess—” He looked down at his hands. “I’ve been worried about scaring you off. I like you a lot, Harry. We’ve known each other long enough for me to be sure about that.” 

If people could control the intensity of their gaze, that’s what Louis’ was attempting to do. His eyes were friendly, inviting, welcoming Harry closer. 

“You’re not going to scare me off,” Harry said, gently touching the hand Louis had rested between them on the blanket. Louis smiled down at it.

“I’m really glad we decided to do this. It feels right.”

Harry lifted the corner of his mouth. “I think so too.” 

Man, was it a relief to finally feel right.

It was strange to think how many times they had spent alone together and how many passing thoughts of intimacy Harry chose not to dwell on. Even though only a few months had gone by since they first met, he felt like there were years of history between them. Since Harry started working at the bar, they had spent almost every day together in some way. Even if it was a day of long rehearsals on a weekend and they wouldn’t be seeing each other in person, a phone call was likely. Harry’s favourite phone call was the time Louis heard a song on the radio that Harry had mentioned that he liked. Whatever song it was, he couldn’t remember now. But that morning, Harry turned on the radio in the kitchen and they listened together, a phone cord still strung between them. They probably talked for an hour after that, and that was when Harry fell in love with talking to Louis. Just talking. At the time, he didn’t realize how quickly the other parts of him would start making him feel the same way. He wouldn’t say he was _in love_ just yet, but there was no one else he had ever made him feel like he did when he played his guitar, and that was the love of his life. That had to count for something.

To love someone, Harry decided, had to feel like listening to your favourite song. But not just alone in your room or in a car full of friends. It had to be a live performance with thousands of people around you, but this song was just for you. The sound would be deafening, but the words clearer than ever. This wasn’t about shedding tears of joy or wanting to squeeze the hand of the person next to you. If it was love, the song was reaching out through the crowd in your direction. Its hand was gripping your heart and making every bone tingle, every hair on your body giving a standing ovation. And the song wasn’t even over yet. If you were lucky, the song would go one forever. Always in the back of your mind, forever an earworm that couldn't find its way out. But why would you want it to if that song was made just for you?

Louis pulled his knee in as they sat there, but he felt it hit against something under the blanket. “What was that?” he asked, but Harry didn’t know either. As far as he knew, all that was on his bed was pillows and blankets.

They both stood up and Louis lifted the comforter. Underneath, for some godforsaken reason, was the copy of _Labyrinth_ that Harry had just spent all this time looking for.

“How the hell did that get there?” Louis wondered out loud.

“Must’ve gotten tangled up in the blanket when I picked it up off the floor.” It was the only conclusion Harry could come to. Either way, at least now they could carry on with their evening.

While Louis rewound the movie, Harry slipped into the kitchen to pop some popcorn to go with it. They agreed that the rum and chocolate milk drinks were not worth finishing, so instead, they swapped them for chocolate milk without the rum. Harry brought it all out to the living room and they turned out all the lights before settling in on the couch. Finally, there might be a movie reference that Harry could get for once.

And he would, if it occurred within the first half-hour of the movie.

Sharing a blanket was probably their first mistake. Or it was an absolutely terrific idea, depending on how you looked at it. As they munched on popcorn, Louis didn’t shy away from letting his head rest on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry didn’t move when he first felt it rest there. He had no expectations for tonight, but the warmth of Louis’ company was more than enough. That warmth had thawed his chilled, loveless heart long ago. Romantic love, that is. Of love, in general, he had more than enough to go around.

When they had finished off with the popcorn, their hands inevitably found each other’s. Harry had to admit that he stopped paying attention to the movie, and that took a lot because David Bowie as the Goblin King was a hard person to look away from. His eyes kept drifting towards Louis; where his hand was rested and the shape of his legs under the blanket and the bright glow of the TV. Everywhere but his face because he didn’t want to be so obvious. 

But Louis still had to have noticed because he lifted his head off his shoulder to stare right back. First at his eyes, then his lips. With his hand rested gently on along Harry’s cheek, he pulled him in for a kiss. Sweet, innocent, and short so Harry knew he was okay with taking it slow. But Harry leaned in to kiss him again, not letting it break so easily this time.

There was something about the kiss that felt innocent like a first kiss should. Not just _a_ first kiss, which this wasn’t for them, but a real first kiss. Like the one when you’re thirteen years old and playing a game of truth or dare in the basement of a friend’s birthday party, hands clammy and secretly hoping you’d get dared to kiss the cute boy from homeroom. When you’re walking home from school with the girl next door and decide to stop at an empty playground that you grew out of long ago, but there’s no age limit on a swing set. When you’re passing notes with your crush in class and plan to meet under the bleachers after school. You talk baseball terminology with your friends when none of you _really_ know what second base is supposed to mean. Every bit of your private life was hidden from your parents because they didn’t understand anyway, and for a few, maybe they never would. But during that kiss, and the moments before, and the night you spend dwelling on it after, your heartbeat never slows down and your mind never stops racing. That smile that you keep trying to hide always finds its way back on your lips. It was the kind of moment that made everything else stand still. 

In reality, a first kiss is almost always underwhelming. You don’t get the soundtrack of a John Hughes movie, or the setting of your favourite romcom. If anything, it’s nothing more than a peck and it’s over, leaving you with flushed cheeks and no words coming to mind. This wasn’t Harry’s first kiss, but it was the first time another person’s lips made him feel that built-up excitement he’d always been missing out on.

It wasn’t long before the innocence was lost. Just in the kiss, that is. Louis was pulling him in, his fingers slipped under the hem of Harry’s shirt as he held him closer. Harry’s pointer finger had gotten twisted in Louis’ collar, and somehow that led to their position turning horizontal. The sweetness was what remained, even as their movements got more intense. By now, the blanket had become long disposed, and Louis’ lips felt hot on his neck. Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest. He wanted to feel more of him—all of him—so he forced the nerves away, letting himself get lost in the motions. 

From outside the front door, Harry could hear the sounds of feet making their way up the steps. Both of them stopped, their heads snapping in the direction of the noise. The sound of keys jingled and Harry thanked himself for thinking to lock the door when they got here. He also cursed himself for thinking he was being so kind as to let Niall have a key as if he wasn’t infamous for never giving Harry a set of his own.

Instead of sitting up properly, trying to fix themselves before Niall entered through the door to take over the living room—the couch was his bed, after all—Harry jumped to his feet, pulling Louis with him by his hand. They left the movie playing just as it was, and their half-drunk glasses of chocolate milk still sitting on the coffee table. Niall could put them away if he really cared so much. With loud and obvious giggles, they ran together down the hall to Harry’s room, latching the door shut behind them. At least Niall couldn’t get in through this lock.

He must’ve seen the tail end of their quick getaway because Niall didn’t call after them to wonder why the TV was still on and Louis’ car was out front. 

Now that their privacy had resumed, Harry led Louis right towards the bed. He sat first, pulling Louis into the kiss until his head hit the pillow. Instead of hovering over Harry, Louis landed on his side next to him, still filled with just as much passion. Harry wanted this—man, did he want this—but Louis must’ve felt his hesitance, so he pulled away.

“Let’s just lay here for a moment,” Louis spoke softly, turning so he was flat on his back. 

“Okay,” Harry agreed. It would give his heart a chance to chill out a bit. 

“What do you think Niall is thinking right now?” Louis asked, his tone matched with humour.

“He’s probably wondering what the hell happened on that couch he’s about to sleep on.”  

“Five bucks says he’s found sleeping on the floor tomorrow morning.”

“Or he decided to take Wren’s room.”

“I’m pretty sure she’d kill him.”

“Oh, absolutely. He’d be sleeping in the back alley tomorrow night.”

They both laughed at the thought. Harry was grateful for the break to collect himself. And that Louis’ could sense the need for it because he wouldn’t have been the one to ask to stop. He would’ve told himself he was freaking out for no reason, likely making him freak out even more. But Louis was still laying close, his arm rested across Harry’s chest as they stared up at the dark ceiling. Harry let himself relax in the comfort. 

“I don’t want to do anything you aren’t ready for,” Louis eventually said, his voice a whisper.

Harry turned to face him, stretching his neck to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Thank you,” he replied, then kissed his lips next. And he kept kissing him because he was ready. Maybe not for anything, but for more. That’s what he told Louis as they found their rhythm again, and it didn’t stop the night from being perfect.

Despite the fact that their bodies had become bare, and that their hands had spent the night roaming each other’s skin, the most intimate thing Harry felt they did in that bed was waking up in each other’s arms. The early sun beamed through the blinds as they both stirred awake, and Harry never knew the morning after was supposed to feel this good. They kissed a little while longer before willing themselves out of bed, then got dressed so they could make some coffee and breakfast.

Louis laughed when they reached the living room, though, because according to their bet last night, Harry owed now him five bucks.


	23. Epilogue

_Summer..._

It was almost time to retire the van. For years, it had done Cherry Pez justice, but they needed something a little more reliable to take them between gigs. Preferably something with less than two hundred thousand miles on it, and maybe breaks that didn’t squeak every time you pressed them down.

So, just like the name Cherry Pez, the van would soon become a part of the band’s history.

But today, it was taking Harry, Niall, and Wren to KIRP FM, Seattle’s alternative rock station, where they were going to be introducing their single “Homesick” before it hit the airwaves for the first time. A song that they wrote and recorded was actually going to be played on the radio. It was still hard to process. They were nowhere near the big leagues. Their label was quite a new company and their album still had to be approved before they would risk mass distribution. As of right now, they were without a drummer, but they would find someone who matched their chemistry as well as Liam did, eventually. If they made it this far, at least their efforts were worth something. They had a chance and there was no stopping them now. From trying, anyway.

“Welcome back to KIRP FM radio with your host, CJ Mars. I’m here with one of our city’s newest bands to come up from the underground, Cherry Pecks!”

“Actually, we pronounce it like Pez, the candy,” Wren explained from her swivel chair. The combination of the headphones and microphone were bigger than her face. “Our label didn’t want us to use ‘Pez’ since it’s a brand name, so we just swapped the ‘z’ for an ‘x’. Cherry Pex.”

“They weren’t sure that was any better, but we told them it was edgier. They liked that,” Harry said with a laugh he tried to hide. Curtis, who was standing in the corner, didn’t need to think he was mocking him, even though he kind of was. Harry actually liked the ‘x’, even though he knew they’d be getting called Cherry Pecks for years, if they made it that long. At least it would look cool on a t-shirt.

“So you’re here to introduce your first single, which we’ll play in a minute, but first I want to hear a bit about you guys. You’ve been underground for a little while playing clubs, you opened for Sweet Water, toured with King Jane, and now you’re releasing an EP at the end of the summer. And that was just this year, am I right?”

“Yeah,” Niall laughed. “It’s felt pretty fast-paced, but it’s what we’ve been working towards for years, so it’s really great.”

“The single is called “Homesick” which I’m to understand is written by…”

Wren and Niall both pointed at Harry—even though it was radio—before the host could finish. 

“Well, we all wrote on it,” Harry tried to say modestly. “I wrote the first draft of the lyrics, but–” He shrugged.

“And is there a story behind it?” the host wondered, leaning forward in his chair with a curious wave of his fingers.

Harry smiled to himself a little, but then he pouted out his bottom lip.

“Not really,” he decided with mischief in his voice. “I was just feeling a little homesick, I guess.”

“Alright, here it is, then. Hitting your listening ears for the first time is Cherry Pex’s debut single, “Homesick”.”

The host pressed play and everyone in the room cheered. This was it. Their song was finally out there for, well, most of the state of Washington to hear. It would hit a few other national airwaves throughout the week and the excitement would only build from there. This was just the beginning.

~

**Review: Cherry Pex’s Bittersweet Debut Single “Homesick”**

By Lisa Elliot, _Alternative Press_

_At first glance, the band’s name left a sour taste in my mouth. Likely to avoid copyright infringement on their merchandise, Cherry Pex has replaced the ‘z’ in the popular candy with an ‘x’ while keeping the same pronunciation. Punk rock? I don’t know how much a letter change is sticking it to The Man, but the confusion will likely get people talking._

_Lead by choppy-haired girl-rocker Wren Price, along with guitarist Harry Styles and bassist Niall Horan, the three-piece has been tip-toeing around the Seattle underground music scene for the last three years. Recently their drummer, Liam Payne, left the group for unknown personal reasons, but the remaining members haven’t let the departure hold them back. After playing shows with the likes of King Jane and Sweet Water, who are currently on their second North American tour and headed overseas next month, Cherry Pex is finally ready for their turn in the spotlight with their first single “Homesick”._

_For a band with punk rock roots, the last thing anyone would expect for their debut is a ballad, but Cherry Pex attempts to redefine the word. Price has a rasp that could never place her on the soft-rock shelf, but we aren’t setting her next to Dolores O’Riordan either. If you’ve been lucky enough to see her perform with Cherry Pex back when they weren’t afraid of lawsuits from candy companies, or her former band, Purely Blonde, that dismembered in early last year, her wicked range will be no surprise. For the notes she can’t hit, Price has mastered the art of the scream, and she’s going to get right in your face to do it. Kim Gordon and Courtney Love will be taking her out for drinks in no time. Ladies, can I get an invite? That’s a girls night out I don’t want to miss._

_Price joined the group late into their creation as they were previously a want-to-be Nirvana with Horan taking on vocal duties. The Cobain of the group, however, seems to be guitarist Harry Styles who wrote Cherry Pex’s lead single. “Homesick” tells a story of longing without giving us the sappy romance that came from 80s pop. The lyrics border on edgy, but the kind of edgy you’d find under the cover of a sixteen-year-old’s cigarette-burned journal. He doesn’t want you to pity him, he wants you to think “Hey, I was that kid too. I know how you feel. Love’s confusing, so let’s just rock out.” That’s when the chorus kicks in, and when Price grabs the collar of the kid in the front row who’s been screaming the words and screams along with him._

_Do we have the next big alt-rock band on our hands? It’s hard to say with how many groups we’re seeing come from the same path: Seattle, bar-playing, head-banging kids who want their names in music history. Cherry Pex’s first EP is set for a late summer release, but they aren’t the only new band on our radar. King Jane’s debut album is already climbing the charts and there are big names waiting at the top._

_Then again, we haven’t seen what Cherry Pex can do with a full-length album yet, nevermind a tour. Styles and Price are the kind of charismatic duo I want to see light up a stage every night. There’s a long way to go before we can expect any headlining shows, but “Homesick” shows promise. These guys better hope the fans—and critics—don’t take that name too seriously, though. I’m sure getting hit with a hard plastic Pez dispenser on stage isn’t the greatest feeling, but it is kind of punk rock._

~

The release party for the single was Louis’ idea. Well, technically it was Niall’s idea, but Louis took over all the planning as soon as he heard about it. Now, as the official owner of Club Rose, he could do as he wished, like close it down to the public to host the single release party for his boyfriend’s band.

Harry and Wren were planning to head to the club together, picking Violet up on their way. For once, Harry found himself waiting on someone to get ready rather than being the one waited on, so he sauntered into the kitchen to find some dry cereal to munch on until Wren finished drying her hair. While Harry stood there, dressed in his best underneath the fluorescent light of his kitchen, he realized the answering machine was flashing. They really were bad at checking that thing.

Leaving the cereal on the counter, he walked over to press the button that made the messages play. The loud hum of the hairdryer from the bathroom finally stopped.

“ _Hi, Harry. It’s your old parents calling._ ” The voice belonged to Harry’s dad, but he could hear his mom also say “Hi sweetie!” in the background. “ _It’s been a while since we last had a chance to chat, but I hope you’re doing alright. Josie misses you tons and still asks about you every day._

_We just got finished listening to this tape your roommate sent us. The note said that it was a song you did with your band and they were going to play it on the radio. I just wanted to let you know that we’re proud of you, son. We know this is what you’ve been working for since you moved out there. Well done._ ”

“ _We love you!_ ” called his mom’s voice in the background, followed by his dad again. “ _Hope to hear from you soon. Take care._ ”

Harry felt a tear prick his eye. He let it fall down his cheek and into the crease of his smile.

“Who was that?” Wren asked.

Harry turned around and quickly wiped the tear away. “My parents,” he said, then waved a finger at her. “Did you mail them a tape with the song on it?”

Wren shook her head with a smile. “I was asked for a copy of it by a certain boyfriend of yours, though.”

It dawned on Harry that, in his parents’ eyes, Louis and Wren were the same person. To them, Wren didn’t even exist, but her status as roommate still belonged to Louis.

So that meant Louis went through the trouble to get a copy of the song from Wren, get the address to the house Harry grew up in, write a short letter explaining what it was, and send it off so Harry’s parents could see the results of all the work he was putting in. This one song meant a lot to him, and Louis knew that. Now, in some way, Harry’s parents did too. And they were proud of him. Acknowledgment of pride was rare in Harry’s family. The last time he remembered being told he made his parents proud was his high school graduation. That wasn’t too long ago, but he was happy to hear those words again.

Harry didn’t _need_ their praise, though. He appreciated it so much, but that wasn’t what was driving him anymore. His friends were proud of him, Louis was proud of him, and most importantly, he was proud of himself. _That_ was the praise he needed. Getting it from his parents, who didn’t understand his life and likely never would, was just an added bonus.

Harry couldn’t forget to thank Louis for what he did. And he _really_ couldn’t forget to give his family a call. To save them from Josie’s nagging, if anything.

“Ready to go?” Wren asked, grabbing her keys from the hook next to the door.

“Yes,” Harry said, shaking away his thoughts. Before he could gain any focus, the keys hit him in the chest and fell into his cupped hands. “Ow!”

“You’re driving,” Wren said, looking smug. “You need the practice.”

The reason Niall was not joining them on the drive to the party was that he was going to be driving himself, in the van that they were soon going to be upgrading, from his own studio apartment. After three months of sleeping on his best friend’s couch, almost beating Harry’s record, he was finally out on his own with a place to call home. No roommates, no girlfriend—a true bachelor pad. He loved it, even though he still spent most of his waking hours at friends’ houses. What could he say? He liked to be around people.

Harry had no idea who was supposed to show up tonight, besides the band. It wasn’t really a surprise party, but Louis was keeping the details pretty quiet. When the three of them arrived, Violet and Wren on each other’s arm, Niall was waiting at the top of the stairs.

“They wouldn’t let me in until you guys got here,” he said.

“Well, that means we have to make an entrance,” Wren told them all, straightening her posture. “Come on, line up the shoulders. Make it look like we know what we’re doing,” she said as she started down the stairs. She was kidding, of course. As if any of them were that coordinated.

Even still, she was right about making an entrance. Violet opened the door for them all because she was up front, and they were greeted by a room full of their friends cheering their praise, music already blasting through the speakers. Louis had the whole place completely decked out with balloons and confetti, like it was some huge birthday bash. Above the bar was a sign with an updated version of their band logo that Zayn had designed for them. Lights were flashing off the out-of-date disco ball and the drinks were already flowing.

Since the three of them were the guests of honour, they waded through a sea of congratulations and pats on the back. Everyone they knew had to be there. Old friends, other bands they had gotten to know over the years of playing at the same clubs and bars, and some of the record company guys because Curtis called Louis up when he heard about the party. You couldn’t exactly say no to Curtis. For Harry, the coolest people to see were people who had been showing up to their gigs from the beginning. Fans, Harry supposed you could call them. It was an odd feeling to know Cherry Pex had fans.

“I expected to see one more of you,” Harry heard from behind him in the crowd. When he turned around, he was more than happy to see Liam’s smiling face. “Still no drummer?”

“What are you doing here?” Harry said excitedly, wrapping his arms around Liam in a tight squeeze. Wren and Niall took their turns doing the same. “I thought you were on the road with Sweet Water?”

“We have a few weeks off before heading to the UK for the next leg. The timing was great, though. I had to be here to support you guys.”

“And we’re so glad you are,” Wren said gleefully, giving him another one-armed hug. Those two had bonded like brother and sister since she joined the band. If anyone was to bring up how much they missed Liam, it was going to be Wren.

Violet reached over for a hug as well. “Always lovely to see you,” she said as he kissed her cheek. That closeness reminded Harry of how much Liam was still a part of this band—these friends. But right now, Liam’s smile was glowing in a way he’d never seen on him before. 

“You have to tell us all about the tour, man,” Niall said. “How has it been? I want every detail.”

“It’s been amazing, and I will,” Liam assured. “Tonight is about you guys, though. Let’s get you a drink.”

There were no surprises that Zayn was the one working the bar. As they made their way towards him, Zayn placed a little menu on the counter in front of them. This was new.

“Three drink options tonight,” he explained. “Louis and I created it with you guys in mind.”

They crowded around the short menu to take a look. Each of their names was used as names for drinks that were inspired by them. The Wren was a mojito, optional rum being an added reminder. The Niall was simple: a pint of “house” beer, a.k.a. the cheapest one they could get without tasting like water, which was exactly what Niall would order for himself. When Harry read the ingredients for his own drink, he had to laugh. Cherry flavoured whiskey, Coke, and a lime wedge. It never made the weekend menu after Harry and Louis’ little taste test all those months ago, but it made it on the menu tonight.

Each of them ordered their namesake, Violet preferring The Wren with rum instead of without. Liam ordered The Niall, but Harry knew they were all missing out by not ordering his drink. Cherry whiskey was truly the most underrated of the sugary liquors.

Just as he felt a hand rest on the small of his back, Harry heard the words, “There are the guests of honour!”

Louis smiled up at him. “There _you_ are!” Harry said brightly, pulling him into a hug. “The place looks amazing.”

“It does!” Wren praised, stepping forward to hug him as well. She must’ve been in a good mood because Harry had never seen her give out so much affection. “Thank you for doing all of this. You really put a lot of effort in.”

“I’m glad you guys like it,” Louis said, wrapping his arm tighter around Harry. 

Something Harry loved about Louis was how unashamed he was because he knew he had no reason to be. Harry grew up in a world of different beliefs and attitudes, and not feeling the need to hide was something Louis was still teaching him. Harry deserved to feel confident in who he was. He was getting there.

“How was the interview?” Louis asked, looking around at them all.

“Weird, but good,” Niall said.

“Why weird?”

“Well, we haven’t done anything like it before, but good because we hope it wasn’t the last time.”

Now that was something they could all agree on. 

Because it was a party, and they technically were the guests of honour, they had to take it upon themselves to mingle around the room. They split off into pairs, Louis staying by Harry’s side pretty much the whole night. The more interesting people to talk to were the ones who were there because they had been fans of the band. They just wanted to chat about music and life, unlike the record executives who were all money and business. Most of them would be gone within the first hour, thankfully. Gotta wait for the parents to leave before you can really start the party.

When they spotted Mickey in the crowd, Louis’ eyes narrowed on him. He pulled Harry along as he made a beeline toward him.

“Hey!” Mickey greeted happily. “Harry, I heard you guys on the radio earlier. The song is fantastic.”

Harry grinned. “You think so?”

That wasn’t what Louis was over here for. He pointed sternly at the cup in Mickey’s hand. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Just Coke,” Mickey tried to assure him.

With a stoic expression, Louis took the glass from his hand. He shook the ice around as he sniffed it before taking a tiny sip, swallowing hard. Seeming satisfied, he handed it back.

“Good,” he said. At that moment, Harry was reminded of the fact that Mickey was only nineteen, and probably shouldn’t have even been in a bar, to begin with.

“I wouldn’t do anything that would get you in trouble,” Mickey insisted, patting him on the shoulder.

Louis’ glare indicated experience told him otherwise. “If you see him with a new drink, make sure to sniff it,” he told Harry.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “He found one beer can in my room and now he thinks he’s my father,” he also told Harry.

“You are not the legal drinking age.” Louis pointed a finger at him.

“And _you_ ,” Mickey poked him in the chest, “are being a stick in the mud,” he said lightheartedly.

It was good to see that their relationship was as normal as ever. Recently, Mickey had gotten full-time hours at the new job he was working, which also came with some benefits including basic health care. Nowhere near full coverage, though, so Louis was still covering the rest. Since he was making a little more money, Mickey had also been paying a monthly rent to Louis on his own accord. Louis accepted it only because he knew the responsibility was good for him, but he wasn’t planning on keeping a cent of it. He stuck it all in a savings account, knowing it was money Mickey would need one day. 

From a young age, Mickey didn’t have any parents, and Louis was in a position that allowed him to fill that role. Mickey was still independent, paying his own way, structuring his own life, but he needed Louis’ guidance, even though sometimes Louis felt he still needed some guidance of his own.

Mickey was still sick, of course. There was no cure yet for the HIV epidemic, but there was treatment. He was still in the early stages, although that was something he never really mentioned. Just because he was sick didn’t mean it was going to consume his existence. He still had a life to live, and no matter what, he was determined to make it good. A year ago, his mentality would’ve been the complete opposite. Hopeless and unmotivated. Now it was different, and he was lucky to have the people in his life who helped him make that change.

Before the evening was surrendered to the bar, Louis took the microphone to introduce the main event: listening to “Homesick” on the day of its release. The song was mixed into the tracklist for the rest of the night, but the first play needed an introduction and Louis was more than happy to oblige.

“First of all, I’d like to thank you all for coming out to support these lovely friends of mine and friends of yours.” Louis stood on the small stage that was usually reserved for weekend shows, holding the microphone in front of his chest with two hands. “I’ve seen how hard they’ve worked over the last few months and I know how much they deserve all of this.” He then addressed the band directly. “The song is fantastic, you three are fantastic, and I’m so proud of you guys. I can’t wait to watch Cherry _Pecks_ become huge.” The pronunciation was on purpose, and it earned him a few laughs from the crowd. “Now, not for the first time today, but for the first time in this room, here’s “Homesick.”

The song began to blare over the speakers, the volume louder than it had been all night, and the room cheered as they heard the opening verse. Louis hurried off the stage to meet Harry again, who was joining his band in a celebratory shot. Wren still participated, even though her’s was just ginger ale. She didn’t want to miss out on _everything_.

They toasted to themselves, to their music, to future tours and future albums. To the success they were still only dreaming of but hoped for every day. They didn’t need to be the biggest band, but they wanted their music to leave the city they’d been playing in for so long. Their EP was set for a September release, only two months away. And then they would start recording their first full-length album, play a few gigs in between, and hopefully hit the road. Right now there was a plan, but it was never set it stone. They didn’t know what would change down the line. Next week they had to audition drummers and hope they could find someone good enough to stick around for a little while. But Harry didn’t want to skip forward to the end. He didn’t need to see how it all turned out just yet. He wanted to be there as it happened and soak up the excitement for all it was worth. Maybe they would crumble and break up in a year, or maybe they’d be headlining arenas in two. He had no idea, but the possibility alone was exciting enough.

“Can I show you something?” Louis asked, leaning close to Harry’s ear so he could hear him.

“Of course,” Harry said. Louis took his hand and led him toward his office. It was solely his office now, and he had redecorated to prove it. New desk, new chair, framed art, and even a little plant in the corner. If he was going to be the big boss, he wanted to look the part, and that included having a fancy office.

The bright light in here was practically blinding compared to what it was like out on the dancefloor. Not that an actual dance floor was getting much use out of people like the ones who listened to Cherry Pex. They were more the types to sit around and chat while drinking or smoke up in the basement at a party. That was why all the music Harry heard tonight was nowhere close to the usual Club Rose setlist. It was more to his taste, but he would admit that the club music was starting to rub off on him.

“I know this is your day, but I’ve been dying to show you this.” Louis opened the top drawer under his desk and pulled out the file that was sitting on top. He spread it out over the clean surface of his desk. Harry peered over Louis’ shoulder, his chin practically resting on it, to get a better look.

“A floor plan?” Harry seemed confused.

“It’s the proposed floor plan for the gay youth centre.” Louis was grinning from ear to ear as he looked down at it. “Nothing is confirmed yet, but we’re thinking that we want to open the doors next spring. We’ll be a shelter, a counsel centre, we’ll have food and resources for kids who might need help. But also, we’d just be open for any queer kids to hang out. It’ll be discrete, you know? A safe space.”

Harry had heard these ideas a hundred times, but he loved the way Louis lit up every time he talked about the youth centre plans. He had never seen him so passionate about anything, and he was so proud of him and his big heart. Nearly all of his savings were going into this centre, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It looks amazing,” Harry said, softly kissing his temple. “I can’t wait to see it when it’s finished.”

“Me too,” Louis smiled. He closed the folder again but left it on his desk instead of putting it away. “By the way, the tip cups are in here. I noticed you forgot some of yours last week.”

“I did?” Harry was sure he had counted out his tips before he left. He’d never forgotten to do it before.

Stepping over to the corner table, he found the cup with his name on it and lifted it out of the box to dump the contents. Only, instead of any coins, it was a pair of keys that fell into his hand with a little note attached to them. “ _Better than a callbox”_ it read.

“What’s this?” Harry asked even though he already knew.

“You’re over so often, I thought it was time I gave you your own key.” Louis stepped forward so he could wrap his arms around Harry’s waist. “There’s one for building’s main door too. Now you can surprise me with a visit whenever you want.”

Harry tilted his chin up so he could kiss him once. “I love it,” he said, and then kissed him again. He tasted a little like liquor and they were both getting tipsy, but this was still only the beginning of the celebration. “I love it and I love you.”

Harry remembered back to the first time they said “I love you'' to each other. They were laying in bed late one night, Harry with his head on Louis’ chest, relaxing after a night of having the whole place to themselves. The candle on the dresser had gone out long ago, but its lasting vanilla scent remained. They were talking in the darkness and Harry just said it. He’d never told anyone that before, at least not in this way, but he knew it was true. Louis didn’t say it back that night, and Harry had to tell himself over and over that it was okay if Louis wasn’t ready yet. He knew better than anyone that you couldn’t rush feelings. But the next morning, Louis woke him up with those three words whispered softly as they were cuddled close.

“I already knew I felt that way last night,” Louis had said. “I just wanted to be able to look you in the eyes when I told you.”

The party was continuing on without them, but they couldn’t let it go on that way any longer. This was a night to celebrate with their friends; these people who found their way onto each other’s paths. Brought together by a spider web of circumstance and life’s great chaos. And now they were here. The people who changed his life, the people’s lives who he had changed. Nothing leading up to now happened in a big miraculous way. They just ended up living with their arms linked together, and it felt so beautifully normal. We have to romanticize the normal if we want our lives to be as exciting as we always dreamed they would be. For Harry, right now, his life felt more exciting than ever.

How lucky was he?


End file.
